


Coming of Age

by laylabinx



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Avengers AU, Avengers Family, Drama, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Avengers, Steve Feels, Steve is the baby, Superfamily, Team Fluff, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 13:50:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 52,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laylabinx/pseuds/laylabinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shots featuring the Avengers and literally everyone else I can think of dealing with the issue of Steve's dubious age. Follow up to Age Play. :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Camp

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my lovely darlings! This is the first in a new series I'll be working on =) I got so many great reviews for Age Play and people requesting a sequel and honestly, I loved the concept so much from the first story that I started playing around with these one-shots almost instantly ^.- I plan on tackling literally every character I can think of before its all said and done lol!
> 
> Okay, so this first one is pre-Avengers, set right in the middle of Captain America. I actually struggled a lot with this chapter because I was trying to get the dynamic between Steve and Bucky right. I loved their relationship in the movie and this is just a bit of a missing scene added in after the Hydra rescue mission. I hope everyone enjoys it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing =/

It takes just over four hours for the mob of army doctors and medics to finish poking and prodding him long enough to declare him healthy and fit for active duty. They stamp his medical records, write a quick signature on the bottom of a few forms and release him into the camp to make way for a new round of sick, injured, or otherwise distressed soldiers. Bucky doesn't mind; he's never been the biggest fan of doctors or needles to begin with and after being strapped to a table in Hydra's base for the past he doesn't remember how long, he's had just about enough of physicians and experiments and everything medical, thank you very much. When he's finally given a clean bill of health, it's all he can do not to skip out of the tent.

The camp is busy and bustling trying to set up tents and shelters for the influx of displaced soldiers. The men who are not in the midst of constructing tents are trying to organize the new soldiers into said tents and it's all so frenzied and confusing it nearly makes his head spin. He glances down at the paper in his hand, just below the advisory paragraph telling him report back to medical immediately if he begins to feel any dizziness, headaches, nausea, etc, and finds his tent assignment. It's toward the back of the camp, tucked away in between two others and furnished with cots for immediate occupation.

Bucky's not too concerned about the cots; another pseudo side effect of being strapped to a table for so long means he's not too eager to lay down and be still for any length of time at the moment. But the tent is far enough away from the center of camp that, with any luck, will make it a bit quieter than some of the others nearby. And quiet is good, he could use a bit of quiet right now.

The sidings of the tent are still pulled back from when the cots had been brought in and even from a distance, Bucky can see that the tent is empty. Either his new bunkmates haven't made it over there yet or they've been there and left to find something else to do. The combination of men that had been liberated from the Hydra base were a volatile mix and being in close quarters with one another probably wasn't such a great idea at the moment. Best to give everyone space and time to adjust.

Bucky rounds the entrance of the tent and comes to a stop when he notices a figure standing toward the back. Okay, apparently the tent wasn't nearly as empty as he originally thought. The man has his back to him, hands dug deep into his mud and ash smeared uniform. His shoulders are stiff and rigid like a spring waiting to snap and he's looking out into the camp carefully like he's waiting for something. Or someone. Bucky breaks into a smile.

"Should've known I'd run into you somewhere around here," he says as he takes another step into the tent, causing the other man to jump at his sudden presence.

Steve wheels around to face him, wide-eyed and a little startled. "Hey, you're back! I was waiting for you…uh, I mean, like, not in a weird way or anything but…you know, I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Bucky smiles and shakes his head a bit, which hurts but he ignores it. "'Fit as a fiddle', or whatever other kind of medical jargon you feel like using. See, even got a fancy stamp for a clean bill of health and everything." He holds up the paper in his hand as proof and flashes his friend an easy grin.

Steve nods like it's confirmation of something but neither of them really seems to be sure of what. A brief silence falls, heavy and punctuated, and Steve shifts awkwardly for a second. He opens his mouth to say something, stops, closes it, opens it again, and finally gives up. Instead of words, he crosses the tent in three long strides and captures his best friend in a strong, desperate embrace. Bucky responds in kind and wraps his arms around Steve's back, squeezing back tightly.

"God…I thought you were dead," Steve breathes beside his ear, voice wavering just slightly from the waves of anxiety he's barely been keeping in check.

The change in height is a bit startling; Bucky is used to Steve's head barely clearing his shoulder, not being eye level with him. But he's standing in front of him now, all six feet plus, and it's a little hard to get used to the sudden growth spurt Steve has been subjected to in his absence. He just laughs softly and shakes his head. "And I thought you were still in Brooklyn. Guess we're both good at surprises."

The hug lasts for a few seconds longer before Bucky finally pulls away, keeping both hands on Steve's shoulders and taking a chance to really look at him for the first time since the Hydra base.

The man standing in front of him is completely different from the kid he left behind in Brooklyn. The man in front of him is tall and solid, built of layers upon layers of muscle like on of those old Greek statues they used to learn about back at the orphanage. The man in front of him is covered in soot and dirt and looks every bit like the soldier he always dreamed of being. The man in front of him is not Steve but at the same time completely Steve and the juxtaposition is enough to make his head spin all over again.

Bucky doesn't realize he's been staring for so long until Steve fidgets uncomfortably in front of him, shifting from one foot to the other and rocking back on his heels in a gesture that's so reminiscent of his old self that Bucky has to laugh. He's been given the body of a god and Steve still shifts around like an awkward teenager. Bucky finally lets out a low, appreciative whistle and shakes his head. "Jeez kid, what did they do to you?"

Steve shifts again but it's not as pronounced. "They uh…they made me Captain America," he says sheepishly with a small shrug.

"Yeah, you sort of filled me in on that earlier but we didn't really have the luxury of conversation while running for our lives," Bucky responds, walking around Steve in a slow circle and looking him up and down. "The last time I saw you, you were about 5'4 and 130 pounds soaking wet; now you look like you could bench press me and not even break a sweat."

Steve laughs and shakes his head. "I don't know about that. The serum just sort of…enhanced everything. Muscle mass, endurance, things like that."

Bucky raises an eyebrow in confusion at Steve's explanation. "Serum? What serum?

"The Super Soldier Serum," Steve says simply like it explains everything all in the title. It doesn't so he's forced to elaborate. "It's this new compound they're trying to introduce into the army to help the soldiers. It's supposed to make them stronger and faster almost instantly; cut down the time spent in training and get them onto the frontlines more quickly. Dr. Erskine was the one who first told me about it."

Bucky doesn't know who that is but he stays silent while Steve continues to explain.

"He told me they thought they had perfected the serum and that if it worked it would revolutionize the war efforts and-"

"Whoa, wait," Bucky holds a hand up, effectively cutting his friend off mid-sentence. "What do you mean "if it worked"? You mean they didn't know?"

"Well, no," Steve replies with a small shrug. "I mean they'd tested it before but it never worked, there was always some kind of problem. He told me they had worked everything out though and that it should be safe and-"

"'Should be safe'?!" Bucky nearly shouts in disbelief. "You mean they tested this stuff on you without knowing if it was safe or not?!"

"Bucky, it's not that bad. Listen-"

"Did someone put you up to it?" Bucky asks and Steve blinks in surprise.

"What? No, they-"

"Steve, seriously, if someone forced you into this-"

"No one forced me to do anything-"

"Did they find out you were underage? Is that how they talked you into it? " Bucky asks suddenly, his voice dropping an octave to keep from shouting that kind of information to everyone in camp. It hadn't surprised him to see his underage friend eventually end up in the throes of the war; Steve was a tenacious sort, he wasn't about to let something like age keep him away from joining the army, but Bucky had a real problem with anyone who gave him shit for it. He'd protected Steve from time they were kids and he wasn't about to stop now, whether his friend was Captain America or not. "Did they threaten to discharge you if you didn't go through with it? Your ultimatum was either get dishonorably discharged or be a human guinea pig for the army?"

"No, Bucky, that's not it-"

"Steve, just tell me!"

"I volunteered!" Steve interjects sharply, looking angry, flustered, and defensive all that the same time. "I volunteered, okay?" He says again and Bucky feels a bit of his own anger abate slightly. Not completely but fractionally.

"Why?" He asks finally, his eyes locked with Steve's. "Why would you volunteer for something like that if it wasn't safe? You said they told you there had been problems with it in the past; what if it failed with you? Steve, what if it killed you?"

"I had to try," Steve responds defiantly, his voice still a bit defensive. "I had to do something. If there was even the slightest chance that it could work, that it could give our soldiers a better chance in this war…" His voice trails off and he shifts awkwardly again. "I wasn't really thinking about myself at the time. I wanted the serum to work but not for myself; I wanted it to work for everyone else who could benefit from it. And it did work, it did this," he gestures down toward himself in a surprised, almost self-conscious motion that makes it clear he's not at all used to the new body yet.

"The serum worked, Bucky," Steve goes on with a small laugh. "I mean, look at me; it did all of this. It fixed me."

Bucky sighs softly and shakes his head. "Kid, you weren't broken to begin with."

"Maybe not broken but defective," Steve counters, continuing on quickly before his friend can interject his own opinions into the matter. "The serum got rid of all my health problems. It got rid of the asthma and the anxiety and everything else that was keeping me out of the army-"

"Aside from you being sixteen, that is."

Steve waves one hand flippantly like the subject of his age is a non-issue. "The point is, if it did all this for me, imagine what it could do for everyone else. It could have helped our soldiers, made them stronger and faster on the battlefield and kept them safe. The casualties would have dropped by over half, we could have brought more soldiers home to their families. That's why I volunteered…it would have changed everything."

"What do you mean 'would have'?" Bucky asks, raising an eyebrow at Steve's sudden use of past tense.

The younger man frowns and shakes his head, looking at the dirt floor of the tent. "A Hydra spy managed to get into the lab and killed Erskine. He was the only one who knew the correct version of the serum and now the other scientists aren't sure if they can replicate it again. They took some samples of my blood but they're not sure if they can extract the code for the serum from it or not. I was the only success they ever had with the serum so there's a lot of unknown territory to deal with now."

Bucky sighs again and reaches out to ruffle Steve's hair away from his face. "Well, if the serum or whatever it is had to work on anyone I'm glad it worked on you," he says, and he means it; he was no stranger to Steve's long list of health problems and it really did make him happy to see the kid healthy and fit and strong like everyone else for once in his life. If anyone deserved a second chance at life, it was definitely Steve. "Though I still think you're a complete moron for volunteering to be a human test subject for something that could have killed you."

Steve laughs softly and shrugs. "Well someone had to do it. Besides, who else would have come to rescue your ass from the Hydra base?"

"Hey, watch it, hot shot," Bucky shoots back teasingly. "I'll have you know I was right in the middle of figuring out a brilliant escape plan before you came bursting in, guns blazing."

"Did that plan involve you being strapped to a table by Hydra minions?"

"Part of it did, yeah."

Steve laughs and Bucky finds himself joining him and then, for just that short moment, it feels like everything is right in the world. They're back together, fighting side by side like they always have, and it feels like nothing in the world could bring them down.

Bucky glances down at Steve's suit and frowns, all laughter disappearing almost instantly. "Is that a bullet hole?"

"Huh?"

A finger jabs at a torn, jagged hole near Steve's side and the younger man winces just slightly. Bucky jerks back horrified. "That's a bullet hole! You got shot! Why didn't you say anything?!"

"Because it healed already."

"It what?!"

"It healed. Another perk of the serum is that it helps your body to heal much faster than usual," Steve explains casually, poking at the tear in his suit curiously. "It was just a graze," he says after his rudimentary inspection reveals no blood or pierced organs or even broken skin. Nothing but a bruise and some slight tenderness around the area. "It was probably mostly healed by the time we made it back to camp."

Bucky blinks once, twice, three times before be finally regains the ability to speak. "You got shot…while we were in the Hydra base…and it's already healed."

"Well yeah."

"You didn't even notice it." It's not a question; Bucky doesn't even have it in him to add the upward inflection to the words.

"No, not really. I mean, I'm sure I did when it happened but I was too worried about getting you and the others out to really pay attention to it."

Bucky sighs and closes his eyes, counting to ten slowly while he tries to get a grip on the situation. His stubborn, hard-headed, ridiculously noble best friend has just become the world's first superhero and he doesn't even realize it.

"Bucky?" Steve's voice is hesitant and a bit unsure like he doesn't quite know what to say. "You alright?"

Another deep breath and finally a slight nod. Bucky opens his eyes again and looks at Steve evenly. "Yeah, Steve, I'm alright." He shakes his head again and chuckles softly. "Jeez, kid, what am I going to do with you?" The question is open-ended for a reason because honestly, neither of them knows the answer. "Okay, so you're Captain America, then."

"Yeah, that's what they told me," Steve replies with another small, self-conscious shrug.

"And what does being Captain America entail, exactly?"

"Oh, you know, the usual: symbol for peace and justice, protecting the liberty of the people, upholding the American dream."

"Sounds like a big job."

Steve looks unsure for the briefest of seconds before he lifts his chin a bit defiantly. "It is, but I think I can handle it. Someone has to, right?"

Bucky smirks and claps him on the shoulder. "If anyone can do it, it's you kid. But that means I'm not letting you out of my sight ever. I'm already going to get an earful from Sister Constance once she finds out you managed get yourself over here regardless of military restrictions. Seriously, how did you manage to fake a birth certificate well enough to even get over here?"

"I'm good with a pen," Steve says simply.

"Touché," Bucky allows with a slight nod; he'd seen Steve's work enough times to know the younger man was a damn wizard when he got a pen in his hands. "Regardless, I'm keeping an eye on you whether you like it or not. You may have been turned into an American Hero and a symbol for truth and justice but that doesn't mean I'm about to let you go off alone and get yourself into a heap of trouble you can't get out of. I've always had your back, Steve, and that's not about to change now. Where you go, I go, right?"

Steve grins in return and nods. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

"'Atta' boy," Bucky smiles and pulls Steve into a one-armed hug. "Someone's gotta keep an eye on you after all, right?"

The younger man laughs and ducks his head as his friend ruffles his hair. "If that's what you want to call it. I'm still of the firm opinion that I was the one who saved your ass back there."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, kiddo," Bucky says with a smirk, releasing Steve just enough for him to stand up but keeping a friendly arm around his shoulders. "Now let's go find the mess hall. I don't know about you but I'm starving."

Steve just smiles and nods, leading the way out into camp with his best friend by his side.


	2. Recruits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maria Hill has the arduous task of shooting down rumors among new SHIELD recruits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Hope you guys are enjoying the story so far! Maria Hill just seems like the kind of person who wouldn't put up with a lot of bullshit and seeing her forced to handle a bunch of new recruits was just funny to me ^.- Anyway, hope you all enjoy it!

Maria really hates being in charge of new recruits. Seriously, they're the worst. They're nosy, they're overeager, and they're just a little too optimistic and peppy for her taste. Particularly at 8 am on a Wednesday when she has about twenty-seven other things she needs to be doing other than playing babysitter for a handful of greenhorn S.H.I.E.L.D recruits. The only things she hates more than mentoring are Jehovah's Witnesses and people who talk on their cell phones during movies. But being in charge of new recruits is a close tie with both of those.

Fury is currently out of the country being an ambassador for some S.H.I.E.L.D-related diplomatic mission and Coulson is still on medical leave so that means Maria is the acting director in their absence. That also means that every new recruit is required to report directly to her and no one else without distinct permission from Maria herself. And they're everywhere. Seriously, there's about twenty of them on the helicarrier at the moment and they keep popping up randomly like dust bunnies and badgering her with questions and issues and everything else they can think of. The helicarrier has turned into a daycare center for the new agents and, aside from their credentials and personal referrals, they're all as green as fresh grass in the spring.

She's managed to send off at least a handful of them and get another handful situated with another mentor that specialized in their particular field of expertise but there are still a few floating around who haven't been given away to a good home yet. Particularly the young man who's following her every step like an ecstatic puppy and talking about 900 miles per minute. Maria is beginning to wonder if she'd get demoted for punching him the forehead by the end of the day.

"-and I knew I wanted to work for S.H.I.E.L.D from the time I was 11 and the Zambian Crisis was all over the news and I saw how amazing the S.H.I.E.L.D agents were on that mission and-"

Yep, she was definitely going to have to put him in a chokehold by the end of the day if this keeps up. Maria rounds a corner and begins walking down a long, empty corridor that leads to the nearest engineering room. Maybe if she can pawn him off on one of the engineers it'll get him out of her hair for a while…

"-but my grandfather was working for the CIA at the time and my father had just started training for the FBI so it was really just a matter of time before-"

Damn, is this kid still talking? He's been rattling on nonstop for at least thirty minutes now and he hasn't once told her what his field of study was in. Sure, she had his file in her office but it was on a restricted floor and it was impossible to get there with a chatterbox new recruit taking every step she took along the way. She didn't trust him not to break something or immediately catch himself on fire the minute she turned her back so leaving him alone, outside of her office, for longer than ten seconds was completely out of the question. She really needs to find out what he does though so she can drop him off in that department and never look back.

"-and then when I got accepted into S.H.I.E.L.D, I almost couldn't believe it because it was just such a great honor and I honestly never thought something like that could happen to me and-"

"Jesus, kid, will you stop talking for five seconds and take a breath?" Maria snaps, rounding on him in frustration. "You've been talking nonstop for the past half hour and I can't even hear myself think over everything you're saying."

The kid shrinks back slightly and clears his throat. "Uh…sorry ma'am…it's just, well…I tend to talk a lot when I get nervous and this is just such a great honor to me and I guess it just hasn't sunk in all the way yet, you know?"

Maria looks at him and sighs heavily. Damn, he really is just a kid. He's one of those prodigy agents who got recruited directly out of college because they're borderline geniuses in one particular field or another. The boy in front of her looks like he's maybe 22 with big brown eyes and close cropped blond hair. He's a bundle of excited yet nervous energy and he looks like he's literally nearly bursting at the seams with excitement. She knows she shouldn't snap at him, she remembers her first day of being an agent as well and she can vividly recall the excitement she felt the first time she boarded the helicarrier. Maria sighs again and shakes her head. "Look, I understand your excitement agent-"

"Anderson, ma'am," the boy supplies for her with a brilliant grin. "Wyatt Anderson at your service."

"Right. Anderson," Maria says with a finite nod; at least she has a name to put with a face now. "I understand your excitement, I really do, but I'm here to tell you that a good majority of this job is spent behind computer monitors and completing paperwork. It's not all shootouts and espionage, no matter what anyone else tells you. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good," Maria starts walking again and she's not the least bit surprised when Anderson immediately begins following her again. "Now what's your specialty, recruit? What were you hired for?"

"Uh, coding ma'am," Anderson answers quickly from behind her. "I'm really good at creating and decrypting codes."

"Well, Fury wouldn't have hired you if you were just "really good"," Maria counters as they enter another corridor, effectively passing up the engineering room in favor of finding the nearest computer lab. Maybe she can pass him off to Malcolm… "Fury only takes the best of the best on this ship and he obviously thinks you're better than "good" if he hired you personally."

From the corner of her eye, Maria can just make out a flush lighting up the younger man's cheeks. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Don't thank me yet," Maria mutters as they pass by a room completely filled with computers. "Being a computer tech means you're more than likely going to be hunkered down in this area of the ship most of the time keeping an eye on external operations and S.H.I.E.L.D's other assets."

"You mean like the Avengers?" Anderson asks excitedly, his eyes widening suddenly. "Like keeping an eye on the Avengers?"

"Yes, sometimes," Maria allows because far be it from her to deny it. A good majority of the computer techs keep constant surveillance on everything from the Avengers Tower to how they fight out on the battlefield and there's a good chance that Anderson will be included in that at least once in his career.

"Oh my God…that is so cool!" The kid practically shouts and Maria feels a muscle in her jaw twitch involuntarily. "I've always wanted to meet them, I've been fascinated by them since the Battle of New York a few months ago!"

"They're something, alright," Maria mutters, looking around the room and finding not hide nor hair of Malcolm. Damn, he's probably up in the control room…

"Have you ever met them in person? Are they as amazing in person as they appear on TV? They stayed here on the helicarrier for a while didn't they? Did any of the other agents meet them?"

And just like that, Anderson is back to chatterbox 101. Maria sighs and exits the computer lab, Anderson chattering away right behind her.

"Is it true that Tony Stark has, like, six Iron Man suits in the Tower? He keeps redesigning them, I figured he probably kept every single one."

Maria comes to the end of the corridor and takes the steps two at a time, Anderson falling into step beside her easily. Where the hell is Malcolm…?

"I heard Agent Romanov once took down an entire room full of Yakuza with nothing but a pocket knife and comb, is that true?"

Maria doesn't answer and keeps walking. If she wasn't absolutely convinced that Malcolm would shut down the power to her apartment with two keystrokes on his cell phone, she would tear him a new one the next time she saw him. Damn tech geek…

A sudden thought hits her and she curses inwardly. Malcolm is halfway across the country working on an encrypted file for the NSA. Shit. Now who is she going to get to take Anderson off her hands?

"Is it true that Captain America lied about his age in order to get into the army?"

That question causes her to halt briefly, not enough to be noticeable but enough to make her steps not nearly as hurried as they had been. How the hell did this kid know about that? The issue of Steve Rogers' true age was one of the most closely guarded secrets in all of S.H.I.E.L.D; there were literally only about six agents on the entire ship who knew about it. So how did this kid, this new recruit, figure out something like that.

"I remember browsing around through some forums a few months back-"

Oh right. Computer tech.

"-and ran across someone who was saying that Captain America was only, like, 16 when he joined the army and that's why he looks so young and-"

"Do you always believe everything you see on the internet?" Maria asks sharply, turning to face Anderson once again.

The kid blinks and shifts a bit under her scrutiny. "Well, no but…you know, I mean, they made a pretty compelling argument and I just thought that-"

"You thought that it was true and Captain America is still a teenager underneath his costume."

"Well…I mean, maybe a little bit…but-"

Maria sighs softly and shakes her head. "Anderson, listen to me very carefully. We have no use for internet rumors here in S.H.I.E.L.D; we rely on cold hard facts and undisputable evidence before we make any kind of assumptions, no matter what they are. Captain America's age is none of your concern but I can assure you beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is not a teenager. The minimum age for any S.H.I.E.L.D agent is 18, no exceptions to anyone. Ever. Not even Captain America. I can guarantee you that if Captain America was even a day younger, Fury wouldn't acknowledge him as an Avenger. Understand?"

"Yes ma'am," Anderson replies professionally, his expression just a tiny bit crestfallen.

"Good. Now I don't want to here another word about internet rumors or tabloid stories or anything like that. Nothing but absolute facts from now on."

"Yes ma'am."

Maria nods and continues on down the corridor, Anderson falling into step right beside her. She kept her face a neutral mask but inside her mind was racing. She'd dodged a bullet with Anderson but if a rumor like that was already floating around on the internet, it was only a matter of time before news reporters and journalists began showing up at the Avengers Tower trying to ask questions none of them were supposed to have answers for. She needed to get in contact with Fury immediately but it was going to be difficult with Anderson right on her heels and-

Maria pauses in the hallway, suddenly coming upon a solution for her current problem. "Anderson, have you taken the mandatory field training test yet?"

Anderson blinks in confusion and raises an eyebrow. "'Field training test'?" He repeats carefully, a look of puzzled perplexity crossing his face.

"Yes, the field training test," Maria responds with an affirmative nod. "It's required for every agent of S.H.I.E.L.D; it's kept in your file in case we ever need to send you into the field for any reason. It's absolutely mandatory; I'm surprised they didn't make you take that first before reporting to me."

Anderson still looks slightly bewildered by the assignment but he nods slowly. "I should probably go do that, huh?"

Maria nods in response. "Yes, you should." She looks down to the staircase at the end of the hallway. "See those stairs down there? I need you to report to the third deck shooting range immediately. Report to Agent Simmons and tell him you're there for your field training test; he's the only one qualified to grade you properly. Get through the test and have him send his report to me when you're finished. Report back to me only after he's dismissed you, understand?"

"Yes ma'am," Anderson says sharply, giving her a quick nod before hurrying down the hallway toward the staircase.

Maria waits until he disappears up the stairs before turning around and walking in the direction of the opposite staircase. It would probably take Anderson at least twenty minutes to realize there was no third deck shooting range, another twenty to realize there was no Agent Simmons, and probably close to an hour to realize there was no such thing as a mandatory field training test. That would give her plenty of time to send a message to Fury about the internet forums and how they should go about handling the damage control.

It was lucky Anderson had said something when he did; it gave them much more room to quell anymore rumors or questions that might come up in regards to the true age of Captain America. For as much as Maria hates being in charge of the new recruits, it sometimes leaves her with more information than she had when she started so she figures the day isn't a complete bust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked it! :D


	3. Flu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clint makes the sudden realization that Steve doesn't have a driver's license.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I hope you're all doing wonderfully! We're finally getting into some of the Avengers stories now! Yay! So this idea actually popped up recently; I went to the grocery store with a friend of mine when he was sick and he was buying some cold medicine (Robitussin maybe? IDK, some kind of cough medicine) and they made him show his I.D. to even make the purchase. Apparently kids are using it to get high now and they're required to card people to buy cold medicine O.o Weird...
> 
> Anyway, that got me thinking and this fic popped up. I figured if Steve had joined the army before he was legally able to drive, he probably wouldn't have an I.D. at his disposal. Just something I wanted to play around with ^.- Hope you all like it! :D

"Geez, you guys look awful."

Tony sniffles pitifully in response and blows his nose. "Wow, thanks Clint. How'd that seminar over tact go by the way?" He mutters thickly, tossing the used tissue into the nearest trashcan and fixing the archer with a weak glare.

Clint shrugs one shoulder casually. "Sorry. It's just that when we left everyone was fine and then I come back and you guys look like your next stop should be the CDC. Seriously, we've only been gone for, like, a week."

Tony coughs into the back of his hand and shakes his head. "Well, you can thank Natasha for that," he mumbles with a nod toward the equally sick assassin standing next to the sink a few feet away making tea. "She brought back a strain of super flu from Moscow and proceeded to infect everyone in the Tower."

"I told you to stay away from me, Stark," Natasha shoots back without turning. "I gave you fair warning."

Tony coughs again and looks back at Clint. "What'd you do with Steve?"

"He's downstairs on a conference call with Coulson and Fury. He said he'd be up in a few minutes."

"Well, you might want to tell him to stay downstairs," Tony suggests, his voice thick and stuffy with congestion. "Bruce has quarantined the whole Tower and I can pretty much guarantee that he's going to send you guys off to the helicarrier until this thing passes."

"Hmm, vacation at the chateau helicarrier," Clint reasons as he rocks back on his heels. "Sounds like a blast."

"Once again, thank Natasha for that." Natasha turns and tosses the hot tea bag from her cup at him. Tony doesn't even try to move out of the way; actually, he doesn't even seem bothered as the tea bag bounces harmlessly off his shoulder and lands on the floor at his feet. Both actions speak volumes as to how terrible the two feel: Natasha, who's aim is usually impeccable and always ends in a headshot, can't hit Tony in the forehead even though he's only standing a few feet away and Tony, while he's generally not able to duck the projectiles that Natasha has a habit of launching at him, usually at least tries to move out of the way. Or at least react. So yes, the flu is wreaking havoc on two of earth's mightiest heroes and neither of them seems to have to energy to even be bothered by it.

Tony has the decency to glance at the wet splotch on his shoulder with slight disdain before he sneezes and coughs all at once into a tissue. "Ugh…I'm going back to bed," he mumbles before giving Clint a mock salute and shuffling off into one of the hallways.

Clint watches him go silently and turns back just as Natasha comes around the bar and slumps onto one of the stools, her mug clutched between both hands. "How'd the mission go?" She asks, her voice just as congested as Tony's but she's making a distinct effort to hide how terrible she feels. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail and she's wearing the same baggy, threadbare sweater she only wears when she's sick or injured. The dark circles under her eyes and the faint flush to her cheeks are a dead giveaway but Clint knows better than to say anything.

"Good enough, I guess," Clint says with a shrug, dropping his keys and his access card for the Tower onto the nearest countertop. "We didn't get much out of Nazino but we got enough to send a S.H.I.E.L.D strike force to his laboratory by the end of the week."

Natasha nods slowly and then frowns, seemingly coming to a sudden realization. "Where's Steve?"

Clint quirks an eyebrow at her. He'd just told Tony where Steve was not thirty second ago and he thought Natasha was close enough to hear it but apparently not. That or the congestion was affecting her hearing, that was a possibility as well. "He's downstairs on a conference call. He'll be up soon."

Natasha nods, satisfied with the answer, and takes a sip of her tea. Though he would absolutely never call her on it (he valued his life and all of his limbs, thank you very much), Natasha tended to mother the hell out of Steve in her own unique way when she thought no one else was looking. They had all become a little more protective of their time-displaced captain after the big age reveal but Natasha tended to take it just a bit farther than the others. She kept a sharper eye on him than anyone else and he wouldn't put it past her to have planted a chip in Steve at some point when he wasn't looking. It was endearing in a way but, once again, Clint would never, ever call her on it.

He's just about to ask her about her own mission when the lights flicker above his head. There's a tremendous sneeze down the hall and seconds later Thor appears in the doorway. The thunder god's usually tan skin is slightly paler than normal and his golden hair is mussed and sticking out at odd angles like he's having a hard time controlling static electricity. He stumbles into the kitchen, lacking the usual grace and composure he moves with, and comes to a stop next to Clint.

"Greetings, archer," the Asgardian welcomes, trying to smile but it looks tired and thin. His blue eyes are cloudy like the sky before a storm and his voice sounds just as congested as everyone else's.

"Hey big guy," Clint smiles sympathetically as Thor stifles a cough as he passes. "Flu got you too, huh?"

"Aye," Thor nods slightly, rummaging around in the cabinet for a coffee mug. "I do not understand how you Midgardians can tolerate such an illness. We've no infirmities such as this on Asgard."

Clint shrugs a bit. "Well, it's just kind of a way of life down here. Granted, its not an enjoyable experience, but most people are kinda used to getting sick every once in a while."

"It is miserable," Thor mutters as he fills the mug with hot water from the kettle Natasha was using earlier. He sneezes again and the lights flicker overhead. His hair fuzzes slightly from the resounding static. Clint has to resist the urge to laugh; he really doesn't feel like being electrocuted right now.

"What has become of our wayward Captain?" Thor asks as he locates a container of instant coffee grounds and proceeds to dump the entire thing into the mug.

"He's downstairs," Clint replies casually; there seems to be a pattern developing here. He ignores the way Natasha is smirking across from him. "Uh, Thor? I don't think coffee is going to be the best thing for you right now."

"He's right," Bruce says as he rounds the corner into the kitchen. The doctor's normally unruly hair is particularly wild right now and his eyes look tired behind the lenses of his glasses. He seems to be doing a bit better than the others (probably because of the Hulk in some way) but he's obviously still sick. He walks over and takes the coffee mug from Thor, handing him a new one with a tea bag in it. "High amounts of caffeine should be avoided when you're sick. Tea trumps coffee in this instance."

Thor looks like he wants to protest but instead he just sneezes, causing the lights to flicker again, and fills the mug with hot water from the kettle. He lets it steep for a few minutes before removing the bag and walking over to the bar, taking a seat next to Natasha. Natasha's hair frizzes a bit from contact static but she doesn't even seem to notice.

"Well, as you can see the Tower has turned into a bit of cesspool since you've been gone," Bruce informs him calmly like he's telling him about the weather. "The disease is on its last leg though, we should all be completely fine by the end of the week. Still, it's probably best if you and Steve stay away from the Tower for a few days while it burns itself out. Doesn't make sense to get everyone sick." Bruce looks at Clint for a minute and looks back toward the door. "Speaking of, where is Steve?"

Natasha can't quite suppress the chuckle that escapes her and Clint lets out an exasperated sigh. "Geez, you guys! I didn't lose him!"

"You lost him in Austria that one time," Tony offers from the hallway, appearing in the kitchen a few seconds later and retrieving a water bottle from the refrigerator.

"Yeah," Clint allows defensively. "But that was after I got pistol-whipped and knocked through a window. It's hard to keep track of someone when you're unconscious."

"Hey, all I'm saying is that you have to keep an eye on him sometimes," Tony counters, taking a swig from the water bottle. "Steve has that wide-eyed, innocent look about him that makes it pretty clear he'd wander into traffic if given the right reason."

"Its true," Natasha chimes in. "Coulson nearly lost him at Grand Central because he walked off to help a little girl find her mother."

"Okay, granted," Clint mutters, rolling his eyes. "But I didn't lose him. He's downstairs on a conference call with Fury and Coulson. He told me he'd meet us up here when he got finished."

As if on cue, the door swishes open to reveal a casually dressed Steve Rogers. "Hey guys, I just got off the phone with Fury and-"

"See?" Clint says, jerking his thumb in Steve's direction. "He is distinctly _not_ lost. I am not the worst babysitter on the planet."

Steve blinks in surprise. "Huh? I feel like I'm missing something…" His gaze lands on his obviously sick teammates and he frowns. "Hey, what happened to you guys?"

"We decided to have a flu fling while you two were out of town," Tony explains casually, his quip missing its usual snark and wit. "You guys just missed all the fun."

Bruce shakes his head and presses his fingers to one temple like he's trying to ward off a headache. "What Tony means to say is that we've all contracted the flu. I've already spoken with Fury and told him that you and Clint will be staying on the helicarrier for the next few days until we're not contagious anymore."

"Which means you guys should probably get out of here," Natasha suggests as she pushes her empty mug to the edge of the bar. "The less exposure the better." Her gaze turns to Clint and she shrugs apologetically. "Although you've probably been more than exposed by this point since you've been standing here for the past half hour."

"Yeah, I'm not too eager to battle the flu," Clint mutters with a shake of his head. "Come on Steve, let's get out of here before we end up in the same boat."

"But what about-"

"Uh-uh, come on," Clint says, catching Steve's elbow and dragging him out into the hall, the doors swishing closed behind them.

**OOOOO**

"I can hear you fretting from across the car," Clint says as they pull out of the parking lot and turn into the main street. "Care to share with the class?"

"Do you really think we should just leave them like that?" Steve asks, blue eyes troubled and eyebrows knit together in concern. "I mean shouldn't we try to help them out or something?"

Clint snorts and shakes head. "Look Steve, I know you want to help and all but I can tell you right now that if we stay there we're just going to be in the way. Thor is about to cause a power surge every time he sneezes, Natasha handles being sick like a pissed off grizzly bear, and I'm pretty sure Hulk isn't too happy about the ordeal either. If we stayed there, it would put everyone on edge and I'd rather not see the fallout from that combination."

Steve still looks bothered and he opens his mouth once or twice like he wants to say something but can't figure out what. Clint sighs and glances at him. "Alright, look…if we go to the store to get orange juice and aspirin will that make you feel better?"

The younger man nods in response, looking a bit more at ease thanks to the suggestion and Clint counts it as a minor victory on his part. He flips his turn indicator on and pulls into the next lane, turning off into the parking lot of the nearest grocery store.

"Okay," Clint says as they exit the car and walk across the parking lot to the store. "Here's the plan: I'll get the orange juice and Kleenex in bulk, you go over to the pharmacy section and get everything you can find that says 'flu' on the label. Got it?"

Steve nods and heads off in the opposite direction once they're inside, glad to be doing something that would potentially help his ailing teammates. He finds the pharmacy section easily enough and begins combing the shelves looking for everything that could help with a rampant outbreak of the flu in the Tower.

He finds everything from painkillers and sleep aides, pills for congestion and runny noses, cough suppressants and chloraseptic sprays for sore throats. Steve isn't picky; he scoops everything into the basket hanging from his arm and hopes that he has something for every flu symptom that might come up.

He meets Clint back at the registers just as the archer is loading the last grocery bag filled to the top with Kleenex into the metal shopping cart. The cashier seems only mildly surprised when Steve empties the contents of his own basket (which is literally almost the entire flu section of the pharmacy) onto the belt and steps to the side as he rings everything up.

The cashier swipes a bottle of something (Steve isn't really sure what; it said 'flu' on the label so it went in the basket) across the scanner and a little box pops up on his screen. "Can I see your I.D. for this?" The man asks, directing his attention to Steve and halting the remaining transactions.

Steve looks equal parts stunned and embarrassed by the request, blinking in confusion for a few seconds like he's trying to comprehend what the cashier had asked him.

"Look man, it's store policy," the kid tells him with a slight shrug. "We have to card everyone under the age of 40 for some of this stuff." He holds up the bottle in his hand as indication but doesn't give any other explanation afterward.

Steve still looks confused, fumbling awkwardly for a minute before Clint catches onto the problem. He feels like smacking himself for not thinking of this earlier: Steve doesn't have an I.D.; he enlisted in the army before he could even legally drive let alone have any use for personal identification.

It had never been an issue before; S.H.I.E.L.D usually covered all of them with personal I.D.s for any mission they had that would require the use of one and Steve didn't sneak off to bars or drink outside the Tower in a way that would require him to use a fake one. So far, Steve had gotten away with not having an I.D. because he'd never needed one; he'd never had to prove his age to anyone in the new millennium. Now here, in a grocery store buying cold medicine of all things, he was going to have to pull out an I.D. and prove that he was old enough to buy it. What an odd day.

Clint swoops in just as Steve is floundering for some kind of excuse as to why he doesn't have a driver's license to show the cashier. "Shit man, I forgot your wallet got stolen last night," Clint mumbles like the thought just crossed his mind. He pulls out his own driver's license and hands it to the cashier. "Some guy lifted it last night when we went out," Clint continues, explaining the situation to cashier and rolling his eyes for dramatic effect. "Some people, right?"

He nudges Steve with his knee and the younger man takes the hint. "Yeah, stupid egg-head really left me in a pinch."

And now Clint wants to whack Steve upside the back of the head for using 1930s lingo; seriously, the kid was technically only 17 and he was talking like a 90-year-old man. Granted, he was in a way but that doesn't mean he has to talk like he just toppled out of The Great Gatsby.

Luckily, the cashier doesn't seem to notice (or care) and simply reads off the information on the license. He types in a few commands onto his register and the screen clears, allowing the rest of the transaction to go smoothly. Clint pays for their purchases and nods Steve toward the door before anymore awkward questions can come up or Steve has another opportunity to speak like Al Capone.

"Thanks for that," the younger man says as they start loading the bags into the backseat of the car. "I owe you one."

"Don't mention it," Clint says casually. "And I have got to get you caught up on 21st century slang, that was just sad."

"Really?" Steve seems genuinely confused by the information. "That kind of talk was the bees knees when I was a kid."

Clint resists the urge to roll his eyes again. "Get in the car, Steve."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked it! :D


	4. Cafe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Natasha defends Steve's virtue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I hope this chapter finds you well! Can I just say how much I love writing protective!big-sister!Natasha? Its one of my favorite things ever! XD This chapter was a lot of fun to write because Steve doesn't get to see any of Natasha's reaction, it all happens with him out of the room so she's free to be as scary and deadly as she wants to be ^.- Btw, I apologize if anyone out there is named/knows someone who is named Brandy; I have nothing against the name, it just happens to be the one that popped in my head while I was writing this. Hope you all enjoy it!

"Wow, I've never seen Christmas lights like this before," Steve mumbles with a low, appreciative whistle, staring out the window to the illuminated trees and light poles surrounding them. "I mean, I saw a couple of houses with them when I was growing up but nothing like this."

Natasha smiles slightly and takes a sip of her coffee. "They're something alright," she allows, glancing out the window as well and following Steve's gaze. It really was a beautiful sight, all the trees sparkling and filled with thousands of tiny, glittering lights. A light dusting of snow covered the sidewalks and streets beneath the trees, shimmering ethereally from the glow of the white lights wrapped around the branches. People walked past the windows in front of them, bundled in thick coats and wool hats, heads ducked slightly against the bitterly cold wind.

It reminds Natasha of where she grew up, the winters of her childhood and the few happy memories she had of her youth. She would never admit to being sentimental about something as silly as snow and Christmas lights. It was childish and immature and she was a world-renowned assassin and she did not get all emotional and reminiscent about the way the snow reflected off the trees or how the feeling of snow flurries against her cheek made her smile just a bit every time. Nope, the reason she brought them both to this café that happened to have a perfect view of the light-adorned trees across the street was because Steve had wanted to see the lights. That was the only reason and that was the only one she would admit to.

She needed to drop off a package at the post office downtown and Steve had offered to walk with her. It was his first Christmas since being unfrozen and he wanted to see the city lit up for the holidays. Natasha obliged because it had been a good excuse to get out of the Tower for a few hours and because there was honestly very little she could ever deny Steve when he gave her the puppy eyes. The worst part about it is that he probably doesn't even know he's doing it most of the time; he's not aware of the kind of great and terrible power those eyes have on anyone within a block's radius. It's a combination really: big blue eyes, a few blinks, and a very slight tilt of his head and Natasha (and just about everyone else they know) would be willing to knock over Fort Knox if Steve brought it up. Damn him.

There's another reason Natasha is so lenient with Steve and it's something she's willing to deny to her dying day. Clint knows and she's pretty sure the others have their suspicions but they're all smart enough to keep it to themselves. Natasha had unofficially adopted Steve as a surrogate younger brother after the file from Fury and had made it her personal mission mother the hell out of him when she thought no one was looking. Granted, Steve never asked for much but when he did she was much more indulgent with him than she was with nearly anyone else on the team (Clint being the one exception). It would bother her a lot more if Steve didn't look so damn happy right now.

There's an expression of genuine contentment in his eyes right now, one that replaces the persistent look of lingering sadness and regret that Steve had carried around with him for the first few months after he woke up in the 21st century. It had taken a long time for him to accept the fact that, while his old life was gone, he had a new one here, with all of them, and they were all willing to accept him into the ragtag family they'd formed in the face of battle. For the first time in a long time, Steve looks genuinely happy and at peace with the world and Natasha feels the slightest sense of elation and accomplishment at being the one to have brought that expression to his face.

The door swings open behind her, bringing in a blustering, snow-flurried wind with a bitter bite behind it. The cold is enough to snap Natasha out of her thoughts and she shivers before she can stop herself. She hopes it will go unnoticed but her wish goes unanswered as Steve looks at her and frowns in concern. He plucks his coat off the back of the chair and offers it to her even though Natasha is still bundled in her own coat. Natasha can't quite stop the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth; leave it to Steve to be the perpetual gentleman.

"I'm alright," she assures him, waving his offered coat away as politely as she can.

"I could switch seats with you," Steve offers instead, the concerned frown still on his face, replacing his earlier expression of contentment.

Natasha just shakes her head. "Steve, I'm fine, really. I was just surprised, that's all." Had it been anyone else, Natasha would have been annoyed. She wasn't some pining damsel in distress nor was she unable to take care of herself; she'd been a trained killer since she was twelve years old and she couldn't remember the last time she had actually asked for help from anyone. But this was Steve; polite, quiet, Steve Rogers who always seemed so authentic with everything he did and never seemed to have any kind of ulterior motives for the things he offered. He didn't do things because he thought she would go to bed with him and he didn't do them because he was scared of her, he did them because she was his friend and he cared about her. It was a startling realization the first time around; she wasn't used to people doing things for her without the promise of sex or the threat that she would murder them in their sleep. Steve had never been concerned with either of those things, he was just concerned about her.

Steve still looks bothered and fretful so Natasha decides its time to change to subject to something that doesn't involve her being cold. "Have you ever been ice skating, Steve?"

The younger man thinks for a second before shaking his head. "No, I always wanted to learn but I never had the chance. I was sick a lot as a kid so my mother never really allowed me to spend that much time outside when it was cold."

Natasha is just about to respond when a young woman appears next to their table. She smiles apologetically, her eyes flickering between Natasha and Steve. "I'm sorry to interrupt your conversation but do either of you have a cell phone I could borrow? I'm supposed to be meeting someone here and I left my phone at home."

The girl seems nice enough but there's something about her that sets Natasha's nerves on edge. She's wearing way too much makeup, her perfume is far too strong, and she's standing just a bit too close to Steve for Natasha's liking. One hand clenches just a tiny bit against her leg underneath the table.

Steve seems to recover from the intrusion first and nods at the girl's request. "Yeah, of course. Here, you can use mine," he says, reaching into his pocket and retrieving his cell phone. He hands it to the girl with a friendly smile.

"Thank you so much!" The girl gushes, smiling brightly at Steve and batting her eyelashes just slightly. Natasha clenches her teeth.

The girl steps away from the table and Steve returns his attention to their previous conversation. "How about you? Did you go ice skating a lot when you were younger?"

It takes Natasha about two seconds longer to recover from the girl's interruption than it normally does. She shakes her head slightly and clears her throat. "Uh, yeah. A friend of mine taught me how when I was a kid and we used to go out to this frozen pond every once in a while and-"

The girl returns to the side of their table a few seconds later and smiles sheepishly, looking directly at Steve. "Looks like I'm being stood up," she comments in what would normally come off as an indifferent, slightly resigned tone. Natasha isn't fooled though; she feels her jaw clench again. "Oh well, thanks for letting me use your phone," the girl says, handing Steve back his phone with an over-exaggerated sigh.

The bait works and Steve frowns. "I'm sorry to hear that, miss. You could join us for a moment if you'd like."

The girl blinks innocently, her heavily lined eyes fluttering like she's surprised by the offer. "That's so nice of you but I couldn't. I've already interrupted your date once and-"

"It's not a date," Natasha answers automatically before she can stop herself. It had become commonplace for her to deny any ties to a supposed relationship almost instantly and the words were out before she realized she'd said them. She corrects herself easily and forces on a smile that she hopes comes across as natural. "Just coffee between friends."

The girl hesitates, sizing Natasha up from where she's standing. Natasha eyes her right back, not at all fooled by the sweet and innocent charade the girl is attempting to put on. Her makeup is too dramatic, her bleach-blond hair curled in a way that would be alluring to any man who laid eyes on her. Her clothing is hidden beneath her coat but the belt is cinched tight at the waist to give her the perfect hourglass figure. She came here for the express purpose of finding a man to take her home and Natasha knows it.

Steve apparently doesn't see anything wrong with the situation and he pulls out the chair beside him as an invitation. "Please, join us. The more the merrier, right?"

Natasha smiles at the girl like a cobra. "Right."

The girl's eyes flicker away from her for a second and she grins brightly at Steve. "You're so sweet to let me join you. Thank you so much."

"Our pleasure," Steve says, giving her a friendly smile in response. "I'm Steve and this is Natasha."

The girl smiles warmly at him. "Its nice to meet you both, my name is Brandy."

God, even the girl's name is enough to set Natasha on edge! Brandy? Seriously? Ugh!

"So what do you guys do?" Brandy asks, her eyes darting between Natasha and Steve. Her expression makes it clear that she could really care less whether Natasha was here or not, all she's interested in is Steve.

"Uh…" Steve seems momentarily flustered by the question but recovers easily enough. "I'm in between jobs right now. Just laying low until the next one comes by, you know?"

Brandy nods and looks at Natasha. "How about you?"

Natasha gives her a sweet smile that might as well be laced with razorblades. "I'm a private contractor of sorts. In between jobs as well."

Brandy nods again and gives a small, girlish smile when she realizes it's her turn to speak. "Well, I'm hoping to become an actress and a model. I came her a few years ago looking for work and have been doing a few odd jobs here and there ever since." She smiles at Steve again. "I guess you could say I'm in between jobs as well."

The conversation drifts between Steve and Brandy for a few more minutes and she goes on to tell him all her various successes and failures in the world of modeling and acting. Natasha is barely listening; Brandy's words all kind of run together and it sounds like a gnat buzzing in her ear after a while. She responds and speaks when she feels it's necessary, smiling here and chuckling there to make it seem like she is engaged in the conversation even though she's not.

What she's really doing is watching; she watches the girl's body language and hand gestures, the way she leans in toward Steve when she speaks and how her entire body is angled toward him. Occasionally, she'll burst out laughing at something Steve says, tossing her head back and exposing her throat. As the conversation wears on, she becomes more comfortable and even goes so far as to lightly touch Steve's hand or arm while she's speaking, using his name in certain parts of her sentences and never taking her eyes off him. It's body language and seduction 101; Natasha has written the book on everything this girl is doing and she's been using it at her disposal for years longer than this girl has. Every gesture, every expression, every smile, screams "take me home!" and she's laying it on as thick as she can.

Steve, however, is oblivious to all of it. He'd once told Natasha that women never paid him much attention before the serum and she supposes he's still a little too out of his element in that regard to be able to recognize when a girl was actively trying to get in his pants. He seems to be genuinely interested in the conversation and completely oblivious to the fact that this girl has probably undressed him with her eyes at least six times by now. While Steve is looking at Brandy and listening carefully to her words, Brandy is eyeing him like a piece of man-candy, and Natasha is watching her like she's trying to determine the quickest and easiest way to murder her with a teaspoon and pillage her pockets before anyone notices.

The inevitable comes a few seconds later. Brandy leans in just a bit too close, gestures just a bit too largely with one hand, and knocks Steve's coffee cup off the table and into his lap. Scalding hot coffee splashes over his shirt and jeans and he jerks back with a surprised yelp, standing quickly.

Brandy gasps in surprise and stands as well. "I'm so sorry! Are you alright? I didn't know the cup was that close to the edge of the table! God, I'm so sorry!"

Steve, though covered in coffee, appears otherwise relatively unharmed and smiles softly, shaking his head. "No, it's okay. Really. It was my own fault, I probably should have moved that cup back in the first place."

"Are you sure? Geez, I'm really sorry. I'll pay for your dry cleaning," Brandy rambles on, fluttering around the table looking for napkins. Natasha just stands calmly, walking around to the other side of the table and picking up the fallen coffee mug from the floor.

"It's okay, really," Steve assures them both, looking down at the coffee stain on his shirt and jeans. "I'm pretty sure I can get it out with some water. I'll be right back." He gives them both a friendly smile before disappearing off in the direction of the restrooms.

Natasha has already reclaimed her seat by the door and is eyeing Brandy evenly from across the table. The girl watches Steve go, obviously oggling the absolute hell out of his ass when his back is turned. She only sits back down when he disappears into the hallway leading to the restrooms.

A brief silence passes between them, Natasha calmly sipping her coffee and Brandy fidgeting rather nervously across from her. Finally, when the silence becomes too much to take, Brandy speaks up. "He's really great, huh?"

"Mmhm," Natasha agrees quietly behind the rim of her coffee mug before setting it back down on the table.

Brandy hesitates for a second longer before continuing. "Do you think I could ask him for his number-"

"No."

The girl frowns in surprise and blinks. "Look, I just think he's nice and all and-"

"No."

Brandy frowns again, a slighted expression on her face. "Well don't you think its his decision to-"

"No."

Angry now, Brandy crosses her arms over her chest and levels a glare at Natasha. "Geez, what's your problem?"

"My problem is you," Natasha states simply, fixing Brandy with a glare of equal proportions.

"Me? What-"

"I know what you're doing and I'm telling you right now it's not going to work."

"What do you mean you know what I'm-"

"You waltz in here with some sob story about being stood up or just getting out of a bad breakup, set your eyes on the hottest guy in the room and proceed to flirt and fawn all over him for the rest of the night until he agrees to take you home." Brandy opens her mouth to say something but Natasha cuts her off with another glare. "Then you hang around for a few days, getting him to spend all his time and, not to mention, money, on you until you get bored and traipse away for your next conquest. You walk away with everything and leave him with nothing. Sound about right, princess?"

Brandy's eyes narrow sharply. "How dare you-"

"Please, spare me your indignation," Natasha counters, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "Honey, I've been playing this game for longer than you've been alive and I've mastered my technique so it's not nearly as blatant and obvious as yours. My code name is Black Widow for a reason and I'm the best at what I do. You're just a silly little girl who's flirting like you're still back in high school. Though I will give you credit for trying this at a café and not going to a bar like any other woman would. Bold move on your part."

Brandy looks like she wants to protest but Natasha continues on before she can. "Any other guy in this room is fair game; hell, you can take home two at once for all I care. But Steve is off limits. So back off."

"Look, if you're trying to intimidate me-"

"Oh, I'm not trying to intimidate you," Natasha counters easily. "I'm just telling you it would be in your best interest to walk away right now and not look back. Things may get messy if you don't."

A cold, ugly look crosses the girl's face. "I thought you said you two weren't dating."

"We're not," Natasha says simply with a shrug. "But that's hardly any of your business now, is it?"

Brandy just rolls her eyes and sneers. "God, what are you, his mother or something?"

"Or something," Natasha allows calmly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Now I suggest you move along and find someone else to talk to for the rest of the evening."

Brandy quirks an eyebrow just slightly. "And if I don't?"

"Then I can't say I'll be held responsible for my next course of action," the assassin replies evenly, fixing the girl across from her with a glare that could melt through solid steel. A very slight look of fear crosses through the girl's eyes and Natasha feels herself smile softly. "As I said, I believe its time for you to go."

Brandy huffs indignantly and scowls, standing up and grabbing her coat off the back of the chair. "Fine, I'm going. Happy now?"

"Ecstatic."

The girl rolls her eyes as she continues to gather her things. "You know, I really hope Steve is aware of just what kind of person you are. Acting like a psychotic bitch toward anyone who talks to him-"

There's a brief flash of silver and a heavy thud that resonates through and around the table. A startled silence fills the café and every person in the room turns toward the women's table. Brandy blinks in surprise and looks down to see both her sleeve and arm pinned to the table with a silver fork that's passed through her sleeve and embedded itself into the wood of the table. The silver tine is just barely touching the skin of her arm inside the sleeve, a clear indication of just how close it had come to passing through the skin instead. Brandy looks across the table at Natasha in a mixture of surprise and fear; she'd never even seen her grab the fork and she didn't even know where it had come from.

Natasha stands slowly, calmly, unfolding her body like a panther ready to pounce. She reaches across the table and grips the fork, tugging just slightly and freeing both it and Brandy's sleeve from the table. She drops it back on the table and fixes Brandy with an even glare and a razor-sharp, sweet smile. "Run along now, little lamb, before the wolves come out to play."

Brandy staggers away from table in surprise, coat clutched tightly to her chest. She shakes her head in an expression that could be read as either fear or outrage or both before walking toward the door and disappearing outside without another word. Natasha settles back down into her seat, picking up her coffee cup and taking a sip.

Steve returns a few seconds later, his shirt still stained but less vivid than it had been before. "Guess I'll have to toss it in the laundry tonight when we get back," he comments offhandedly when he retakes his seat, looking around the table with a slight frown. "Where did Brandy go?"

"Oh, her date showed up after all," Natasha tells him with a soft smile as she finishes her coffee. "Apparently he was just running a bit late."

"Oh, well that's good," Steve says with a smile, brushing a napkin over his shirt absently to soak up any lingering dampness. "I'm glad he was able to make it. She seemed like a really nice girl."

"Yeah, she seemed nice," Natasha agrees with a dry smile. She grabs her coat off the back of the chair and stands slowly. A few of the patrons of the café are watching her a bit warily but Natasha pays them no mind as she slips her coat on and flips her hair over the collar. Steve follows her example and grabs his jacket as well, slipping it on and buttoning it up in the front.

Once they're both sufficiently bundled up to face the cold weather outside, Natasha grabs Steve by the elbow, looping her arm through his and leading him toward the door. "Come on, Steve. I think there's an ice rink about a block from here; I'll teach you how to ice skate."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all liked it! :D


	5. Driving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Coulson is responsible for teaching Steve how to drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dears! Okay, I apologize if Steve comes across as a bit OOC in this one but I really wanted to write a scene where Steve is just absolutely terrible at something. I have a friend who rides a motorcycle and he was telling me that switching from a bike to a car was super difficult because it takes a lot of getting used to as far as size goes. And that got me thinking about Steve not having his driver's license from a few chapters back and this idea was born. I love Steve to death but I thought it would be fun to write something for him where he is just super awful at some common, everyday task (in this case driving) and just failing like a champ at every turn. So that's my explanation for it lol! Hope you all like it! :D

"Steve, you do realize the car isn't going to burst into flames if you go over ten miles per hour, right?"

"Yeah, I know," comes the somewhat hesitant response. "But you know what they say: you have to learn to crawl before you can walk."

Coulson sighs softly and looks at the parking lot inching along beside them. "I think we'd do better to crawl right now."

To be honest, the agent wasn't entirely sure how he'd ended up with the job of teaching Steve how to drive. One minute he's sitting at his desk going over the Silva report and the next Clint comes barging in with a rant about Steve not having a driver's license and needing some form of legitimate ID and yadda, yadda, something about cough syrup. It would have been much easier to pass the torch along to one of the other agents but Coulson somehow got suckered into the position.

He didn't mind all that much; in fact, he was a bit honored that the task had fallen to him because it meant he was the one trusted the most with Steve's driving education and overall wellbeing behind the wheel of a car. Still, it was proving to be much more of an endeavor than he had originally anticipated because Steve operated a car in much the same way a half-blind, 112-year-old man would.

S.H.I.E.L.D had secured both an empty parking lot and a beat-up 92' Mazda for the sole purpose of introducing Steve to the world of four wheels and Coulson is silently grateful that there aren't any other cars in the parking lot they have to deal with at the moment. Steve could operate a motorcycle easily enough but he was having trouble adjusting to the larger, bulkier body of a car. In the few hours that they'd been here, Steve had taken out nearly every cone Coulson had set up, he'd rolled over countless curbs, and the back passenger door was dented and scraped from an intimate collision with a light pole. Coulson was somewhat dreading the day he had to introduce Steve into an active parking lot teeming with cars and pedestrians. He had already begun silently making the insurance deductions in his head.

"Okay, when you get to the end of this lane I want you to reverse into a parking spot."

Steve nods and glances down at the shift indicator to find the reverse setting. The car slowly rolls to a stop at the edge of the parking lot and Steve shifts to reverse. The car shudders just slightly from the gear shift and begins to inch its way into a parking spot. Coulson watches from the side mirrors and is pleased to see the car sliding in between the white lines easily enough. They almost have it settled when Steve moves his foot, accidentally mistaking the accelerator for the brake, and the car shoots backwards into a light pole.

The car jerks violently, both Coulson and Steve jostled sharply in the seat. Coulson reaches up and gingerly rubs the bump forming on his head from where it connected with the window in the collision. Steve's hand are wrapped around the wheel so tightly his knuckles are white and he blushes sheepishly. "Sorry…"

"It's okay," Coulson tells him for what feels like the hundredth time today. "Driving is a learning experience, no one is good at it at first." He chose to leave the fact that Steve was downright terrible at it for fear of hurting the younger man's feelings. Steve was still his idol, even if he was absolutely horrible at driving a car. "It just takes practice."

"Yeah, but most people get better with practice," Steve replies somewhat dejectedly.

Coulson resists the urge to chuckle. He found it a bit funny that Steve, Captain America himself, the living legend who was well-known for leading a group of ragtag soldiers into dangerous suicide missions that no one else during WWII was stupid enough to try (and succeeding!), was so incredibly bad at driving a car. It just seemed strange that something that came so easily to most people was proving to be an almost insurmountable hurdle for Steve. He knows that everyone has one thing they are especially bad at (he personally had never fully mastered formal Mandarin even though he lived in Beijing for three years) and he guesses Steve's is driving anything that has more than two wheels.

"It'll be fine; you're getting the hang of it even if you don't think you are," Coulson tells him calmly as he looks out at the empty parking lot. In all honesty, Steve _was_ getting better, little by little. Maybe not the staggering leaps and bounds he might have hoped for but it was progress. At least he knew the difference between the brake and the accelerator now (well, sort of) which was a huge plus in Coulson's book.

Steve still doesn't look convinced so Coulson tries a different tactic. "Let's practice just driving straight, okay? We'll worry about the more complicated things like parking and reversing later."

This seems to settle Steve's mind a bit and he reaches down to shift back into drive. The car doesn't move. Steve frowns and moves the gear shift back down to reverse and then back up to drive. The car shifts a bit beneath them but doesn't move forward. "It's not working," Steve points out with a confused frown.

"You need to take your foot off the brake."

"Oh." Steve moves his foot off the brake pedal and very slowly the car begins to inch forward. They gradually pull away from the light pole and Steve straightens the car out into the middle lane of the parking lot. He presses the accelerator just slightly, inching the car forward and bringing it up to a staggering 12 mph. It's faster than they've gone all day.

"Okay, now all I want you to do is to drive in and out between the light poles," Coulson tells him as the car chugs along through the empty lanes. "Just take your time, and remember: you don't have to jerk the wheel. Just pull it slowly in the direction you want it to go and the car will follow; just like driving a motorcycle."

Steve nods steadily, never taking his eyes off the road. A good majority of the unfortunate curbs they'd run over in the beginning had been because Steve over-corrected the wheel too sharply and pulled the car up over the concrete barrier.

The car crawls its way across the parking lot and slowly approaches the first light pole. Coulson feels his muscles tense just a bit as the front of the car begins to turn just slightly to weave around the pole. "Okay, press down just a little bit on the accelerator," he instructs as they begin to turn. Steve does as he's told and the car speeds up just a little as they pass the first light pole.

"Good, that was good," Coulson says with a smile as they manage to clear the first pole with no incidents. "We're just going to keep doing that all the way down to the end, okay? Just get used to driving and steering the car."

Steve nods and continues to push the car forward slowly, adding just a bit of gas to bring them up to just under 20 mph. Weaving in and out of the light poles gets easier the further they go and eventually Coulson doesn't even have to offer words of advice or encouragement when they approach them. He manages to get Steve to turn the car around once they reach the end of the lane and they start driving back the way they came, weaving in between the poles along the way.

He can see Steve's confidence growing with the success of the exercise and figures building up a solid foundation of simple driving was going to be the basis of their success. He instructs Steve to weave through the light poles one more time before making him drive small circles in the parking lot to get used to turning the wheel a bit harder. It seems that as long as Steve doesn't have to shift any gears, he's doing fine.

His point is proven when he tries to get Steve to shift into reverse and back up straight the way they came and the younger man over-corrects the wheel and nearly sends them over another curb. He straightens out easily enough but it's all the proof Coulson needs that Steve has problems with directional shifts. That will have to be the focus of their training for tomorrow; it will give Coulson time to mentally prepare.

He manages to get Steve to forward park (no more reverse for today, thank you very much) decently enough and even talks him into driving through the cone obstacles again. Steve does remarkably better the second time around when he's not quite so terrified to be behind the wheel.

The sun is just beginning to set by the time Coulson decides to call it a day. He's not quite confident enough to try teaching Steve to drive in the dark so he figures now is as good a time as any to stop. Besides, they have this parking lot secured for the rest of the week; he's relatively certain that will be enough time to get Steve comfortable enough driving the car to move him out onto the main roads. The thought makes him a bit queasy right now.

"Okay, we made really good progress today," Coulson tells him as Steve shifts the car into park so he can trade seats with him. "We'll work on some of the more complicated techniques tomorrow. I think we'll be able to move you out onto the main streets by the end of the week."

Steve nods as he slides into the passenger seat. "Are you sure you don't want me to practice driving us back to the Tower?"

Coulson just manages to suppress a cringe. "I'm sure, Steve. Driving at night is much different than trying to drive during the day."

The younger man just nods again, not put out by the explanation but seeming to understand Coulson's logic. The agent feels like he dodged a bullet with that one.

The drive across town to the Tower is short and Coulson drops Steve off at the lobby just minutes after they leave the parking lot. He waves as the younger man disappears into the elevator and is on his cell phone a half second later. He's going to need some professional help with this one if he ever hopes to get Steve to pass a driving test.

By the time he makes it back to the helicarrier, he's managed to enlist two different, highly-rated driving instructors to help out with the job. They agree to meet up with both Coulson and Steve for the remainder of the week and into the following if need be in order to teach Steve all the mechanics of driving a car. If he's going to do this, he's going to need help and Coulson is not afraid to admit he's in over his head when it comes to teaching a teenage, WWII vet how to drive a car.

**OOOOO**

It's a little over a month later when a knock on his office door startles Coulson out of the report he's working on. He looks up just in time to see a beaming Steve Rogers enter his office.

The younger man doesn't say anything, he simply walks over and places something small and plastic on Coulson's desk. The agent picks it up and looks at it, smiling when he sees the image of Steve smiling back at him.

"Well, look at you," he says with a grin, handing the license back to Steve. "Got yourself a professional driver's license and everything."

Steve grins in return and tucks it back into his wallet. "Yep; 'legitimate I.D.' as everyone else calls it. Tony offered to make a fake one for me but I figured a real I.D. couldn't hurt, you know?"

Coulson nods in response. "Well, I'm proud of you. You worked hard for that, you should be proud of yourself as well."

"Couldn't have done it without you," Steve says, reaching out and grasping the agent's hand in a gesture of gratitude. "Thanks for everything."

Coulson smiles and returns the handshake. "Anytime, Steve, anytime."

The younger man turns to leave a minute later, apologizing for interrupting and thanking Coulson again before stepping out. The agent watches him go and sits back down at his desk, trying his hardest not to grin like a high school fan-boy for the rest of the afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! :D


	6. Train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve blatantly disobeys orders and Hulk is sent to the rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I had a few readers suggesting a story where Steve blatantly disobeys orders and gets himself into a heap of trouble and there's plenty of worried!team to go around. I LOVED that idea! This happened to be the end result =p
> 
> That said, I feel like Hulk is terribly OOC in this chapter and I apologize for that! I have a kink the size of New Jersey for protective!Hulk but this is the first time I've actually attempted to write it out fully. I really hope it's not too OOC though. Also, I've never actually written anything for the Hulk so I'm kinda guessing and going along with my head canon for a good majority of it. I've never read the comics so I'm basing a lot of Hulk's behavior on the Avengers movie and Earth's Mightiest Heroes from Disney O.o Hope it's not too weird!
> 
> One more thing, I know absolutely nothing about subways. I live in a college town in Texas so our main method of travel is a bus transit system. I'm guessing a lot in this story when it comes to the tunnels and the stations so if anyone has any suggestions or bits of information they'd like to point out, please feel free to (kindly) let me know! :D

The problem wasn't that a gas line had ruptured beneath one of the most crowded subway tunnels in the city. It wasn't that the resulting explosion had collapsed a good portion of the surrounding tunnels and had effectively trapped and stranded everyone who was unfortunate enough to be in one of the cars at the time. The problem wasn't even the fact that it would take at least another hour, if not longer, to reach the people trapped in the cars and there was no way of knowing how many of them had been injured or killed from the explosion or the tunnel collapse. No, the problem was that Steve had been on one of those subway cars, as a civilian, and now he wasn't answering his phone.

Tony just manages to suppress a growl of frustration as his ninth call goes unanswered and clicks right over to Steve's voicemail. "Dammit Steve!" He grumbles more to himself than anyone else as he continues to analyze the structurally unsound tunnels in hopes of determining the best course of action. He glances down at the crowded streets below, panicked citizens flooding out from the damaged tunnels and seeking refuge across the street. He keeps hoping he'll see Steve among them but he knows his hopes will more thank likely go unanswered.

They'd been called in a little over an hour ago, just after the story hit the news. Tony had been the first one to catch the alert and had listened carefully as the reporter listed the tunnels that had been affected. Among them was the G line, the one Steve always used when he traveled back and forth between the Tower and his apartment in Brooklyn. According to the report, the explosion had compromised a large tangle of the interweaving tunnels beneath the city and a couple hundred, if not thousand, citizens were now trapped inside the damaged tunnels. Rescuers were working feverishly to remove the huge chunks of concrete and rubble entombing the subway cars but it was a slow process. The uppermost tunnel had been secured already and the workers had quickly moved down to the next one but it was taking too long and people were getting anxious.

"JARVIS, try Steve again," Tony mumbles absently as the flood of people continues to pour out of the tunnels.

"Sir, considering the extensive damage done to the tunnels, it may be highly unlikely that a signal would-"

"Just do it, JARVIS," Tony snaps, cutting the AI off mid-sentence.

"Yes, sir," JARVIS responds; if a computer program could sound chastised, JARVIS certainly did.

The line transfers over inside Tony's helmet and he hears the familiar single ring then click as the connection is cut. Steve's voice cuts in but it's not actually him speaking, it's a voicemail he created months ago and one that makes Tony more anxious each time he hears it. _'Is it on? Huh? Oh! Hi, this is Steve Rogers. I can't come to the phone right now. Please leave a message and I'll call you back when I get a chance. Thanks!'_

Tony sighs and ends the call; he's left more messages than he can count in the hopes of finally getting a response but its all been in vain. Either Steve's phone was damaged when the tunnels were or he's physically unable to answer the phone. Tony doesn't want to think about the latter.

"Any luck getting through to Steve?" Clint's voice cuts through the comm line, pulling Tony out of his thoughts and back to the present.

"No, he's still not answering his phone," Tony responds, barely managing to keep the worried snap out of his voice. He forces himself to calm down; biting Clint's head off isn't the way to go right now. "How are things on your end?"

"Oh, you know…mass chaos, panic in the streets. Typical Wednesday, right?" The archer's reply is meant to come across as nonchalant and light-hearted but there's an underlying current of concern in his voice as well. "We have Thor down in the tunnels helping with the rubble but it's still going to take a while; do you want to send in Hulk?"

Tony considers this for a moment. Sending the Hulk in to remove the larger chunks of rubble would make the rescue effort ten times faster but it could also cause more damage to the already compromised tunnels. Hulk wasn't exactly the most delicate when it came to size or maneuverability and one wrong move could cause the tunnels to collapse even more and cause more damage to the subway cars and the people trapped inside.

"No, better to keep Banner out here for now," Tony answers after a second, catching sight of the scientist briefly as he helped lead a dazed and bleeding man from one of the tunnels. "He's helping with triage right now and until we know the tunnel isn't in immediate risk of further collapse I don't want to send in Hulk just yet."

"You sure?" Clint's voice questions from the other end of the line. "Steve's tunnel is going to be the last to clear; it's the furthest one from the main station. At this rate it will probably be another hour at least before we even reach it."

Tony hesitates for a second longer before answering. As much as he wants to reach Steve's tunnel as soon as possible, he knows the risks of moving too quickly and causing more damage to the tunnels. He doesn't want to risk turning injuries into fatalities because they moved in before the tunnel was secure. He knows Steve would agree if he would just answer his stupid-

A ringtone cuts through the helmet and Tony frowns as an unknown number displays itself across the screen. For the briefest of seconds, he considers not answering and simply letting it go to voicemail but the thought is quickly dismissed and he accepts the call. "Hello?"

No one returns his answer but the other end isn't completely silent either. There's a strange sound, somewhere between breathing and the muffled sound of a phone brushing across fabric. Tony is getting irritated by the lack of response.

"Listen, whoever this is, I really don't have time to-"

"Tony?" A distant, garbled voice answers from the other line. It sounds tinny and far away, filtering through miles of concrete and phone lines and unreliable cell phone service. Tony would recognize that voice anywhere.

"Steve?! Holy shit, Steve, is that you?!"

"Tony?" Steve asks again just as a crackle of static ripples across the line. "Tony, can you hear me?"

"I hear you, yeah. I can hear you," Tony answers back quickly, doing his best to rope in the relief that's bleeding through into his voice. "We've got a rescue team working right now to get to you, just hang tight. Are you alright? Is everyone okay?"

"We're fine," Steve answers quickly, a low groan of metal echoing through the tunnel behind him. "Our end of the train wasn't affected that much, I managed to get everyone out through the back emergency exit."

"Where's your phone?" Tony asks suddenly, realizing that Steve had to borrow someone else's phone to make the call since the number was obviously not his own.

A slightly apologetic pause fills the silence. "It got destroyed when the train derailed; I had to borrow one."

Tony resists the urge to sigh. Steve's phone had a built in GPS tracking unit in the hardware that would have enabled him to get a lock on his location much faster than just bumping around the crumbling subway tunnels in the dark. Doesn't do much good if it's crushed into scrap metal at the bottom of the subway though. "Okay, do you know where you are in the line? Is the tunnel clear behind the car?"

Another silence fills the line and Tony can hear Steve moving around below ground. "Yeah, the tunnel is open behind the car; I think most of the damage was done to the cars in front. We weren't very far up the line when the collapse happened, I think the station is only about maybe two, two and a half miles away? I could send the passengers that way."

"Good plan," Tony says with a nod even though no one else sees it. "We'll get a rescue team to loop around and get the passengers when the reach the station. Think you can keep them all together until the cavalry arrives?"

"I'm going to send them on ahead," Steve answers and Tony feels an uneasy flip in his stomach. "I'm going to stay down here and start clearing the upper cars before the damage gets any worse."

"What?! No! Steve, listen to me, there are trained professionals down here who are working as we speak to clear the tunnels," Tony says, trying to stress the importance of that sentence through a feeble cell phone line and prevent Steve from doing the stupidly heroic thing he _knows_ he's planning to do. "You take the others and head for the station, make sure they get to safety. We'll send a rescue crew to meet you at the station, just give them a few minutes."

Steve almost audibly shakes his head. "I don't think they have that kind of time, Tony. I can hear people in there, they're hurt. The damage is pretty bad down here, the longer we wait, the worse it will get."

"Which is exactly why you should leave it alone and let the men who have fancy engineering degrees and medical training clear that tunnel instead," Tony counters, quickly losing his patience with the matter. "Steve, remember what we talked about a few months ago about how if I say pull out, you pull out? Well, this definitely qualifies as one of those times when you pull the hell out! Seriously, going in there could make it worse and cause more damage; believe me when I say you don't want that on your conscience."

"Tony, listen, I think I can get in through the back of the car and-"

"No, Steve, you listen! These tunnels are about as structurally sound as a house of cards right now and if you go in there and start moving things around that shouldn't be moved around then all of those people who are hurt run the risk of being killed, understand? One wrong move and that entire tunnel comes down on top of you and them and everyone else who's stuck down there."

"Tony-"

"No, Steve! You're not going in that car, that's an order!" Tony hesitates for just the briefest of seconds, struggling to come to the realization that he just outright forbade Captain America from doing something. It was an odd feeling. One that quickly vanished at the sound of Steve's voice on the other end.

"Tony, please…" the younger man's voice begs through the layers of concrete, strata, and shaky cell phone reception. "There are kids in there."

That sentence stops whatever retort Tony was about to make on the matter, halting his protest in his tracks. "The car in front of us had some kind of field trip group in it…a few of them got out but there are more who are still stuck in there…"

Distantly, like the lingering voices of a waking dream, Tony can hear small muffled and frightened voices echoing off the walls of the tunnel as Steve gets closer to the damaged car. He can't tell how many of them there are, the echoes are deceiving and the cell phone's service is shoddy at best, but he can tell there at least a handful of children still stuck in that car. The one that's in immediate danger of being crushed like a tin can with each passing second.

"Please," Steve says again and the imploring tone in his voice is hard to ignore. "Just let me get them out. I can reach them, I know it. Just let me get them out and I'll pull out, I swear."

Tony wants to protest, he wants to insist on the danger of the plan and point out all the errors with it. He wants to tell Steve that he'll only make it worse and that it's reckless and stupid and irresponsible. He wants to tell him all this but he can't because he knows he'd want to do the same thing. No matter the risks, no matter the danger; he knows that if he were in Steve's position he'd want to do the same thing he was suggesting. It's the only thing that prevents him from lashing out at him again.

Tony heaves a sigh that's pulled from his very core and lets it out slowly. "Alright fine," he relents finally, his mind circling through all the reasons why this is an absolutely terrible plan. "Get in and get them out but if you think, for even one second, that that tunnel is starting to come down, you get out of there, understand? No doubts, no hesitations; you get out of there immediately. Got it?"

"Got it," Steve answers and Tony can hear the relief in his voice. "I'm going to put the phone in my pocket so my hands are free; I'll keep you updated though."

"You better," Tony grumbles back in response just as Bruce and Natasha appear from the tunnel that's still being cleared from their location.

"Any word from Steve?" Bruce asks though he seems to already know the answer from the annoyed expression on Tony's face once the billionaire flips his faceplate up.

"That was him on the phone," Tony says by way of explanation with a nod in the direction of the tunnels beneath their feet. "He said he thinks the tunnel is clear behind them all the way back to the last station."

"Well that's good," Bruce says, looking at least partially relieved for the first time since they arrived. "We can get a crew from this station to circle back to the other one and pick them up from the tunnel. Is Steve there with them?"

Tony shakes his head and sighs again. "There are some kids trapped in one of the cars though and Steve's about to upend the whole thing trying to get them out. We need to get a team in there fast."

Natasha shakes her head slightly. "Even if the tunnel is clear behind them, it's still going to take a while to get a crew over there. Traffic is at a stand-still for the next five blocks and they would need to transport equipment and medical personnel across town to take care of the wounded. We're looking at another hour at least just to get to them."

"They don't have another hour!" Tony snaps irritably, glaring at the circling engineers and medical workers who are caught like salmon in an upstream river. "These tunnels are on the verge of collapse and we're all just standing around waiting for it to happen!"

"Tony, they're working as fast as they can," Bruce says, trying his best to placate the other man even though his own anxiety is climbing with each minute that creeps by. He's managed to keep calm through all the panic and confusion, the anger and desperation of the people continuously flooding out of the tunnel behind them but it's taking every ounce of his self-control to stay that way. If he loses focus, even for the briefest second…

"Well 'fast' may not be fast enough in this situation," Tony fires back grimly, glaring toward the tunnel like it had somehow personally wronged him.

"I know but-"

"Tony?" Steve's voice cuts through the helmet again and Tony holds his hand up to Bruce to halt his sentence. "Yeah, what's up? Did you get the kids out? Is everyone okay?"

"I got almost everyone but there are two kids still trapped; I'm trying to figure out how to get to them. The rest of the train is clear though." There's a soft sound somewhere in the tunnel along with Steve that sounds an awful lot like a little girl crying. "How's that rescue team coming along?"

Tony frowns and shakes his head, wishing for everything that he had a better answer for him. "Not good, Cap. We're trying to get a team organized but it's a lot like herding cats up here; it's going to take a while to get anyone down to you."

There's a brief pause before Steve answers. "It's okay," he says even though it's absolutely not okay in Tony's book. "I can get the kids out and then-" A harsh, grinding screech of metal on concrete fills the cell line, echoing off the tunnel walls. "Shit," Steve curses softly on the other end.

"Steve?" Tony asks, a nudge of panic flooding into his voice that has both Bruce and Natasha watching him carefully. Anything that can make Steve openly curse is pretty serious. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, just…" There's a shuffling sound from somewhere down in the tunnel, creaking groans and twisting metal from the damaged car, and the sounds of children crying. "Hang on," Steve says and the muffled sound of the phone being slipped back into a pocket fills the receiver. Even in spite of the interference of clothing, Tony can hear everything with perfect clarity.

"Hey guys," Steve's voice is soft and gentle on the other end of the phone. "Just hang on, okay? I'm going to get you out." The crying gets just a little bit louder as Steve gets closer and Tony can just make out the kids' shaking voices in the background. "Are you guys okay? Are you hurt?"

Tony can't make out their answers but he can hear one of them say they're scared. Another is crying and asking for their mother. Tony feels his jaw clench just a bit at the sound.

"Tony?" Natasha is watching him with narrowed, concerned eyes. "What's going on?"

Tony wants to answer her but he's too caught up listening to Steve trying to cajole the trapped children while still making an effort to get to them. He feels oddly distant, being able to listen in on the conversation but unable to see what's unfolding. He doesn't like the feeling.

A low groan fills the tunnel below and the children's crying gets louder. "It's okay, it's okay," Steve assures them though his voice sounds strained even to Tony. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you, okay?" More movement and something shifts in the car. "I'm going to lift this piece of metal up so you guys can get out. When I say go, I want you both to come toward me, understand?"

One of the voices, possibly the little girl, tearfully tells him that the roof is going to cave in and they're going to die. Her voice is trembling and shaking as she speaks. "No you won't," Steve tells her and there's a grinding shift that sounds like something heavy being lifted or moved. "I promise you, I won't let it fall on you. You just have to trust me okay? I promise I'll keep you safe."

Tony doesn't realize his hands have clenched into fists until Natasha reaches out and almost forcefully uncurls them. His fingers pop and ache from the tight grip. Tony barely seems to notice.

"On three, okay?" Steve's voice sounds so small, so far away. "One…two…" Another terrible groan, the twisting shriek of metal snapping and bending, and something heavy like the earth caving in on top of itself. There's a tiny scream, a muffled grunt of pain, and the line goes dead.

"Steve?!" Tony nearly shouts, eyes widening at the silent, empty line. "Steve! God dammit, Steve, answer me!"

Natasha's eyes have gone wide, the blood draining a bit from her face. Bruce has the same expression and he's looking at Tony pleadingly hoping for an answer. The billionaire shakes his head angrily and looks down at the ground. "The phone went dead…I lost the signal."

For a moment none of them move, they're frozen in place as the city swarms around them. Tony is still trying to come up with a plan to get a team down to that tunnel anytime in the next hour when he hears a strange ripping sound, a cross between shredding fabric and tearing muscle. Natasha staggers backward, eyes wide, and Tony looks up just in time to see a giant, green figure push its way through the crowds of stalled cars like they're little more than Hot Wheels.

People scream in terror and police officers stumble back, hands on their side arms though none of them raise the weapons to fire. Hulk pays them no mind; he grunts irritably in response and keeps walking, heavy footfalls causing the ground to tremble violently with each step.

Both Tony and Natasha watch him go, disappearing around the corner and walking in the direction of the other station. "Should we go after him?" Natasha asks, her eyes still glued to Hulk's retreating form.

Tony shakes his head. "No, we'll just get in the way. We need to figure out a way to mobilize a team and get them over to that other station fast." Natasha nods and allows Tony to lead the way over to the nearest rescue crew.

**OOOOO**

It's amazing how easy it is to push through traffic-blocked streets when the cars weigh little more than Tonka Trucks. Hulk lumbers through the traffic, brushing both cars and passengers aside with each step. The subway station looms in the distance and his jaws clench as it comes into sight. Banner doesn't like enclosed spaces because of the Hulk but now that the 'other guy' is out, there really doesn't seem to be much use in such apprehension.

The station is empty, evacuated and off limits until stated otherwise. Hulk walks in without so much as a pause. Concrete steps creak and crack as Hulk descends the stairs into the tunnels below. The air smells like smoke and gas, leftover odors from the explosion, but there's a human element as well. Further down in the tunnel, into the dark and winding tubes, Hulk can smell fear and anxiety and tears. Mixed in with all that, Hulk can smell blood.

Hulk's strides are larger and longer than a normal human's and he passes by the first group staggering away from the train within minutes of entering the tunnel. The people are dazed and battered, some of the more injured members being supported between two others. They see him approaching and their eyes widen in fear, pressing themselves up against the wall and trying to put as much space between themselves and Hulk as possible. There are children mixed in with adults and they watch Hulk pass with wide eyes. Some let out tiny whimpers.

"Hulk? Can you hear me?" A voice buzzes in Hulk's ear, familiar yet grating, and Hulk growls in response. "We're mobilizing a team now to send in your direction. Have you found the train yet?"

Another grunt, a negative response this time. The voice sighs into Hulk's ear. "Okay, well when you do, remember to go in carefully. We don't know how much damage was done to that end of the tunnel and without Steve's input we're literally in the dark."

 _Steve._ The name sparks something and Hulk can hear Banner speaking in his head. _Friend. Teammate. Protect._ The words are simple but the message is clear: Steve is a friend, one that should not be smashed. Hulk growls again.

"-should be there in about 20 minutes, okay?" The voice is still buzzing, relaying information and instructions that mean nothing. "Try to find Steve and the kids and get them out. Once the rest of the team gets there then you can worry about the bigger stuff but for now-"

"Talk too much," Hulk grumbles just as the derailed subway train comes into the view. It's dark, the lights in the cars flickering spastically every few seconds, and there are sounds of trapped passengers groaning and crying. The back car is empty, the rear door pushed open to allow the passengers inside to escape. The other cars weren't so lucky. The ceiling and one side of the tunnel had collapsed on top of the train, crushing the siding and trapping people inside. The roof of one of the cars is almost completely crushed by a mountainous slab of concrete and the car itself is nearly flattened beneath it. It's the car that has tiny, children's voice crying inside of it and it's the one that smells most strongly of blood at the moment. Hulk walks toward it.

The back door is already opened but the passage is almost completely blocked by twisted metal and rubble. Hulk bends one sheet of metal and peels it away like it's nothing more than aluminum foil. The children's voices are a bit louder, a bit more frantic, and there's a soft groaning sound from somewhere up ahead. Hulk moves forward slowly, the train rocking and shifting with each step.

A chunk of concrete is pulled away and Hulk finally sees Steve and the children. The section of the roof that had all but collapsed under the massive slab of concrete is now supported on Steve's shoulders; it's the only thing keeping the roof from caving in on them completely. He's bleeding heavily from a gash above one eye but he appears uninjured aside from that. He looks up just as Hulk appears. "Hulk…" he says a bit breathlessly, a tight, painful smile pulling across his face. "Man, am I glad…to see you…" He's straining, the weight almost unbearable, but he refuses to let it fall. Letting it fall would crush the two tiny children still trapped beneath the bench beside him.

Hulk moves forward to take the weight from Steve but the train groans in warning. The soldier's eyes widen a bit and he shakes his head quickly. "No…get the kids first…I can hold it…until you get back…"

Hulk considers protesting but decides against it. He moves forward carefully, large bulk straining the already compressed car and making the small space magnificently smaller. The children are watching him with wide, frightened eyes and they shrink back further when he gets closer.

"It's okay…" Steve tells them even though he's struggling to speak at all right now. "He's a….friend of mine…he won't hurt you…"

"Friend," Hulk assures them though neither child seems particularly moved by the reassurance.

"He's going…to get you out, okay…?" Steve gasps as the weight on his back increases more with each passing second. "You have to trust me…and trust him…he'll keep you safe…"

Hulk lays one hand out in the most non-threatening gesture he can think of. The children still look hesitant but they're not as frightened, inching forward ever so slightly out from under the bench. The choice between getting crushed and putting their faith into Hulk is definitely pushing them toward the latter. "Come on, tinies," Hulk encourages, his voice low and rumbling in the collapsed train.

The children manage to squeeze out from under the bench and get just within reach for Hulk to carefully pluck them up off the floor and pull them out of the folded wreckage of the train.

"You got 'em…?" Steve asks breathlessly, the blood mixing with sweat that's beading on his face.

"Got 'em," Hulk answers back, gathering both children into his massive arms and backing out of the train carefully. For all their previous fear, the children now cling to him like a lifeline, tiny faces buried in his corded neck. The train creaks as Hulk steps out into the tunnel and to the side of the tracks to put the children down on the ground. He's just set the little girl down when there's a terrible shudder, an earth-shattering ripple, and the enormous concrete slab crushes the roof of the train completely. Steve is still inside.

Hulk feels a roar erupt from his throat though he's not consciously aware of doing it. The children scream in fright and huddle against the side of the tunnel, trembling and shaking all over like dead leaves clinging to barren branches.

Hulk leaves them there, rushing back to the train and tearing at the twisted metal in a furious frenzy. Banner's voice is ringing in his head and the voice in his ear is buzzing away as well but Hulk doesn't respond to either. Heavy chunks of metal and concrete are tossed away like toys and the smell of blood is stronger than ever now. The slab of concrete has completely decimated the car, there's no way anyone could have survived, and yet Hulk can hear movement beneath the rubble. He grips the closest edge, large fingers crumbling the already fractured concrete, and lifts with all his strength.

Steve is crumpled on the floor of the train, bleeding and broken and only semi-conscious. The collapsing roof had created just the smallest amount of space between the benches and the twisted metal and Steve had been lucky enough to simply be in the right place at the right time. He hadn't come away unscathed though and that was a problem. One leg is completely trapped beneath layers of heavy rubble and one arm is curled protectively around his waist (though if it's because of an injury to his torso or his arm Hulk can't be sure) while the other is tossed over his head to prevent anymore falling debris from taking him out with a headshot. He's covered in bruises and cuts, some deep and bleeding freely, and there's dust clinging to his skin from the wreckage. He moves his arm just slightly when Hulk comes into view and offers him a weak smile that looks a whole lot like a grimace. "Hey big guy…"

Hulk grunts in reply and carefully flips the concrete slab forward onto the rest of the demolished train and away from Steve. The entire train has been crushed and split open like a soup can going through a trash compactor but Hulk doesn't care; he didn't come down here to preserve the train. He crouches down and begins to carefully lift away the rubble pinning Steve's leg, careful not to jostle the injury too much thanks to Banner's running commentary in his head.

"Kids okay…?" Steve asks quietly, his voice strained with pain.

"Mmm," Hulk mumbles in return; he can still hear them sniffling and crying near the edge of the train. The last of the rubble comes away sticky with blood and Steve's leg is a mangled mess beneath all of it. Hulk grumbles slightly in disapproval at the sight of the wound. Banner is rambling on and on about broken bones and possible crushing injuries but Hulk ignores him as he reaches forward and carefully picks Steve up off the floor. The younger man gasps painfully, jaw clenching as he's lifted, and his face is undeniably pale beneath all the blood and dirt.

"Sorry," Hulk mutters as he attempts to arrange Steve into a more comfortable position in his arms. It doesn't work, not with the extent of injuries Steve has sustained, but it's worth a try.

"It's okay…" Steve assures him breathlessly, eyes squeezed shut tightly in pain. "Thanks…for coming back…"

"Stupid," Hulk grumbles pointedly at him, turning away from the train and stepping out onto the tracks again.

"Yeah…it was…" Steve allows, wincing sharply and a sucking in a shallow breath as his injuries are jostled with Hulk's steps. "But I couldn't…leave them…"

Hulk nods just slightly at this and keeps walking. The children are still huddled against the side of the tunnel but they run toward Hulk when they see him, recognizing him as a rescuer rather than a monster. "Come on, tinies," Hulk mutters to them again and the little boy has enough courage to tangle his small fingers in the side of Hulk's pants, keeping his other arm looped around the girl at his side and tugging her along.

A little ways up the tunnel, there's the sound of voices and flashlights flicker off the dark walls. The air smells like metal and plastic, sweat and antiseptic. Rescue team.

A few seconds later they appear, rushing forward to get to the train and the children stumbling along beside Hulk. As they get closer, Hulk feels a growl deep in his chest and he pushes the children behind him, blocking them from the paramedics with one massive hand. His other arm is still cradled tightly around Steve and he shifts his injured body just a bit closer to him to keep him further away from strange hands and unfamiliar faces. Hulk remembers what strange doctors do and what they're capable of Hulk doesn't want them to have the children or Steve.

The paramedics pause just slightly and begin talking to him in calm, soothing voices. They insist that everything is alright now, that they're not there to hurt them. Hulk takes a step away.

"Hulk," the voice in his ear buzzes and Hulk had almost forgotten it was there. "It's alright, the paramedics are there to help."

"Take tinies," Hulk rumbles back with a shake of his head. "Take Steve."

The voice sighs softly. "Yeah, they're going to take them but it's to help them. They just want to make sure everyone is okay; they're not there to hurt them."

Hulk doesn't trust them, doesn't want to let them take the children or Steve away. Banner is rambling on in his head again, trying to convince him to let the paramedics do their job and that they're not like the other doctors. Hulk doesn't trust Banner either at this point.

"Hulk," Steve mumbles weakly from his arms. He's barely conscious but he's making an effort at staying that way. "It's okay…we'll be okay…"

Hulk grunts in disbelief but he can feel his distrust waning just slightly.

"They won't…hurt the kids…" Steve insists, trying to look up at him though eyes that are attempting to swell closed. "I promise…"

It takes about another five seconds of indecision before Hulk finally relents with a heavy, heaving sigh. "Fine," he grumbles, moving his hand and allowing the medics to step forward and scoop the children up off the ground.

Another team of paramedics appear a split second later, this time carrying a backboard, and move a move toward Steve. Hulk hesitates just a second more, _Steve. Friend. Protect._ ,before gently setting the injured Captain on the ground next to the backboard. The younger man is immediately swarmed by medics who begin putting all kind of braces, monitors, and wires on him.

Hulk watches silently, fists clenched and muscles tense, ready to move in and snatch Steve away again if necessary. Several minutes later, Steve is strapped to the backboard and the medics are ready to leave, lifting him carefully and starting back down the tunnel.

"S'okay," Steve tells him one last time though his words are slurring terribly from whatever drug or painkiller they have hooked into his arm. "Promise…" And with that the medics start back down the tunnel, Steve between them, disappearing into the darkness.

Hulk considers following to make sure they don't do anything to Steve the minute he's not looking but Banner's voice is in his head, reassuring him over and over that Steve will be fine. Hulk watches until the last glimpse of the paramedics and Steve disappear out of sight before turning around to the wreckage of the train that's now being swarmed by another team of workers. As much as he may want to follow, Hulk knows there's a job to do and that he's more use down here. With a grumble of resigned acceptance, Hulk steps forward and begins lifting away the heavy chunks of rubble still burying the train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all liked it! :D


	7. Hospital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bruce and Steve have a heart-to-heart while Steve is in the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I've always had this image in my head of Bruce being team dad when they're not out on the battlefield and that's kinda where this was going. He seems like one of the most level-headed ones of the group when he's not in the middle of Hulk-rage so putting him in dad!mode just feels like a natural fit ^.- Hope you all like it!

"Whoa…hey! Easy…" Bruce admonishes lightly as he crosses the room swiftly to end up at Steve's bedside. "Don't push so hard," he continues, slipping an arm behind the younger man's bruised and bandaged back to help him sit up more easily. "You're going to rip your stitches again."

Steve grimaces but accepts the help with a painful smile. "Sorry," he mumbles through clenched teeth. "I was starting to get uncomfortable lying like that."

With Bruce's help, he manages to shift just enough to get in a more comfortable position before collapsing back against the mattress breathlessly. It's hard enough moving around with one arm in a sling but the various other injuries make any kind of shifting a nightmare. Even the smallest amount of movement drains what little energy he has and he has a vivid recollection of his life before the serum. "Ngh…this sucks…" He mutters more to himself than anyone else but Bruce just smirks.

"Well, that's what you get for taking on a collapsing subway tunnel," the scientist counters lightly, frowning when he notices a small spot of blood forming beneath one of the bandages laced across Steve's chest.

"Yeah…lesson learned…" Steve groans with a painful exhale. Bruce is rummaging around in the cart beside the bed looking for a roll of fresh bandages when Steve finally regains the ability to speak without gritting his teeth. "Were those kids okay?"

Bruce pauses for just a second before answering. Steve had asked the same question the day before but he'd also been pumped full of enough morphine to take down a Mammoth so it was no surprise that he'd forgotten. His injuries had been severe and, super soldier serum or not, he was going to be down for a few more days before he was back on his feet.

"Yeah, they're fine," Bruce tells him, repeating the same thing he'd said the day before. "They've probably told everyone at school about the rescue by now." He smiles lightly and begins pulling away the bloodied bandages. "It's not everyday that a man in the subway holds up an entire tunnel and you get rescued by the Hulk."

Steve laughs, which turns into a wince. "Yeah…probably made for a pretty good story, huh?"

Bruce smiles but says nothing else as he turns his attention to the series of sutured wounds across Steve's torso. As it turns out, taking on the brunt of a collapsing subway tunnel leads to _a lot_ of broken bones and internal damage and Steve was no exception. On top of a colorful myriad of bruises and scrapes, the soldier had shattered his left leg in three different places, fractured one shoulder blade, broken his collarbone and several ribs, all topped off with a concussion that should have left him in a coma. One lung had partially collapsed on the way back to the helicarrier and several internal organs had been bruised and/or knocked around as a result of falling concrete. To be honest, Steve probably should have been dead but he wasn't. He was bruised and battered and in more than a little bit of pain but he was most certainly alive.

Sure enough, one of the wounds has been ripped open again from Steve's overexertion. The wound is bleeding freely though it has healed considerably from the day before when it was deep enough to see the bone easily. Layers of muscle and sinew have been slowly but surely stitching themselves back together but it was a slow process. With all the other damage done to his body, Steve wounds are healing more slowly than usual and the constant fidgeting and moving isn't helping matters at all.

Bruce inspects the wound carefully, deciding after a minute that it can probably do without the stitches being replaced and just be allowed to heal on its own now. There are a few other wounds that can probably have the stitches removed as well but Bruce decides to leave them in for the time being figuring it can't hurt with the healing process.

Steve is slumped back against the mattress now, eyes closed but whether it's from pain or exhaustion Bruce can't be sure. He still has a steady drip of morphine feeding into veins but at the rate his metabolism goes it may be wearing off by now. Bruce makes a mental note to check on that later.

"You know," he says after a minute once the wound has been re-bandaged. Steve opens his eyes slowly and looks at him. "That was pretty amazing what you did in that tunnel." Steve makes some kind of face but Bruce continues. "It was stupid, don't get me wrong. Incredibly stupid. Amazingly stupid. But pretty amazing nonetheless."

Steve smiles faintly and chuckles. "It certainly doesn't feel amazing," he mumbles with another wince. "But I couldn't just leave those kids there." His eyes become a bit unfocused as if remembering something from a long time ago and he's silent for a second. "We had to make decisions like that during the war sometimes…the decision to stay and help or get out before we were all trapped…" Steve shakes his head as much as he's able, which isn't much without getting a raging case of vertigo, before he continues. "I knew the logic behind a lot of those decisions but I hated making them. With those kids in the subway it wasn't even a choice."

Bruce nods in understanding and puts away the roll of bandages. "You know, I'm sure as a professional and technically as one of your guardians I should be telling you that it was a stupid decision and you could have been killed and you should have waited for the rescue team and all that," Bruce rambles on, stopping when he sees the crest-fallen expression on Steve's face. "But I probably would have made the same decision. Tony will be in a snit about it for at least another week about it but he would have done the same thing too. We all would."

Steve laughs softly and shakes his head again. "Be sure to tell Tony that. He's been ranting at me for two days now. He told me I'm grounded until I'm forty." Steve smiles, which looks a bit painful behind all the bruises on his jaw, but it's genuine.

Bruce shrugs one shoulder and leans back in his chair. "He was just worried. We all were." Personally he doesn't remember much about the tunnel or the train, just snippets and flashes of memory like a camera capturing random moments in time. He remembers seeing Steve in one of those flashes, train and tunnel supported on his shoulders, and that was one of the last images he can recall clearly. The rest is a blur, dark shadows and indistinct faces all melding together to form a dark smear of nothing across his memory. He woke up in the helicarrier, dazed and confused and almost instantly going into doctor mode for his injured teammate. He was counting on the others to fill him in on the missing time from his memory.

It was very shortly after Steve had been declared stable that Tony made his entrance. The soldier was in and out of consciousness through the majority of the billionaire's rant (which was impressive even by Tony's standards) and could barely do more than nod and "hmm" while the other man raged on about stupid super soldiers and their God damn martyr complexes. Bruce had listened in as Tony threatened everything from locking Steve in the Tower for the rest of his life to issuing him a handler that would go everywhere he went. The handler was by far the most legitimate threat considering Coulson would probably jump at that opportunity if it were ever even brought up. Bruce has no doubt in his mind that that idea probably circled its way through Tony's head about six times during his visit.

Still, for all of Tony's ire and gall, the underlying concern was evident in his voice and in his eyes. Listening in on the other side of that phone call, thinking the tunnel had collapsed and taken Steve down with it had shaken him more than he cared to admit. Tony was still getting used to all the excess feelings that went along with being a member of a team and worrying about everyone all at once and this was no exception. Tony was angry because he was worried, a default reaction that took the place of his usual wit and sarcasm in the face of unforeseen obstacles. He'd gripe and grump for the next few days until Steve was back on his feet and then, and only then, would the tide begin to recede and he'd be back to his usual snarky self.

The others had come by later that day, filtering in and out between the doctors and nurses hovering around Steve's room. Steve had been slightly more lucid when Clint and Thor stopped by, able to answer a few questions and hold something resembling a conversation for a few minutes at a time. Clint had playfully joked that Steve needed to stop hogging all the batshit crazy heroics for himself because he was making the others look bad. Thor had been more impressed than anything, commenting several times how Steve's strength rivaled some of the warriors he'd fought with back on Asgard. Apparently this was huge compliment but Steve was so hopped up on pain killers at the time that the magnitude of it was lost on him. Clint and Thor stayed until it was obvious that Steve was losing his battle with the waking world and quietly snuck out the door once the soldier's eyes fluttered shut.

Bruce wasn't sure when Natasha came in, he never even saw her enter the wing. One minute the room is empty except for Steve and the next Natasha is sitting in the chair beside his bed. The soldier was asleep, completely oblivious to the assassin's presence, and Natasha was making it a point to keep it that way. He wasn't sure how long she sat in the room, not saying anything and barely moving other than to cross her arms over her chest and study the face of the injured, sleeping man in the bed. Several times Bruce thought about going in to offer his company but each time he held himself back. There was something about the silence of the room and the intensity of Natasha's gaze that made him feel like he would be interrupting something if he walked in.

Natasha kept her silent vigil for a long time before suddenly standing and walking toward the door. Just before she reached the handle, she turned and walked back toward the bed, whispering something in Russian before brushing her lips across the back of Steve's bandaged knuckles. And just like that, she disappeared as quickly as she'd come. Though he would absolutely never say this out loud, Bruce has often contemplated sewing bells on all of Natasha's clothes so he can at least hear her coming when she decides to enact Stealth Training 101.

Steve shifts again beside him and winces. "Well, if it makes you feel any better…" He gasps a bit as the movement jars his still injured ribs. "I'll actively try to avoid getting crushed by collapsing subway tunnels in the future."

"Smart plan," Bruce tells him with a slight smile. "And if you don't stop moving and agitating your injuries I'm going to strap you to the bed."

"Where's the fun in that?" Steve asks, laughing lightly but following Bruce's advice to stop moving.

"Well it's either I strap you to the bed to make you stay still or I leave you with a giant, green babysitter and we both know how antsy the other guy gets when it comes to small, enclosed rooms."

"Fair enough," Steve allows, reclining back slowly against the pillows and willing himself to relax. Everything hurts and aches and throbs with each breath he takes and it's still nearly impossible to find a position that doesn't make something hurt. Still, he's managed to shift and wiggle enough to find at least a decently comfortable position and all the moving, coupled with the steady flow of pain killers that are still being pumped into his system through the IV beside his bed, have made him sufficiently drowsy and fatigued. He can feel his body leaning toward sleep, his limbs and eyelids growing heavier with every passing second, and he figures the best thing he can do is simply let go and allow himself to slip back under for a while.

Bruce seems to realize Steve's internal struggle before he does and gets up slowly, dimming the lights above the bed and pulling the blankets up a bit higher. He tucks the thin sheets around the younger man, careful to avoid his wrapped ribs and bandaged arm.

Steve is beginning to drift now, eyes fluttering and nodding ever so slightly, but he stirs himself awake long enough to catch Bruce's wrist before he leaves. "Hey Bruce?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks," Steve mumbles, his voice thick and heavy with sleep. "Thanks for everything."

Bruce just smiles and nods. "Anytime, kid." He ruffles a hand through Steve's hair gently before stepping away from the bed and walking toward the door. "I'll come back to check on you later, okay?"

Steve is already asleep, head nodded to the side and eyes closed lightly. It's the first time he's looked at peace all afternoon. Bruce steps out quietly and closes the door behind him.

**OOOOO**

When Steve awakens a few hours later, he becomes aware of two things. First, that the TV is on, filling the darkened room with flickering light. And second, there's someone sitting in the chair beside the bed.

He turns his head slowly, wincing a bit at the stiffness in his neck, and sees Bruce slumped down in the plastic chair beside him. The scientist's eyes are closed, hands folded over his chest loosely, and his breathing is slow and even. For just the briefest second, Steve has an image of Bruce in his mind as a father, holding vigil at his child's bedside. Steve doesn't think of himself as a child but he can definitely picture Bruce as a father and the thought makes him smile.

Stripping off the top blanket (he's getting too hot under all the layers anyway) Steve manages to drape it across the other man's legs without waking him. Satisfied with his work, Steve eases himself back down onto the mattress and glances up at the TV just in time to see Dorothy and company begin their skip toward the Emerald City. Steve smiles tiredly and closes his eyes again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading guys! :D


	8. Soup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I found out a long time ago that Tony will use any excuse necessary to explain why he hasn't consumed anything but granola bars and coffee in three days and his favorite one is, 'well I didn't have time to make anything'."
> 
> Pepper rolls her eyes and makes her voice deeper, doing her best impression of Tony. "Of course I didn't eat anything today, Pepper, I was too busy developing nuclear fusion in the basement. I didn't have time to do something stupid like eat. By the way, there's a wormhole in the broom closet." She pauses for a second and frowns. "You know, I kind of wish I was joking about that last part."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can totally relate to Pepper in this regard: I am definitely a stress baker. It gets particularly bad around finals because then my apartment literally looks like a bakery lol! Pepper definitely seems like she'd be under a lot of stress with all the work that she does so I figured she needed some kind of creative outlet. Also, I'm a sucker for people bonding over food and I'm a bigger sucker for Pepper being team!mom to the Avengers (particularly Steve ^.-) Hope you all like it! :D

"You know," Pepper calls from the kitchen, not bothering to look up from the mixing bowl she's standing over. "Bruce would be really upset if he found out you were up and walking around when you're supposed to be resting."

There's a muffled thump from the hallway as Steve stumbles on his crutches and runs one of the feet into the wall. Pepper glances up just in time to see him correct himself and resume his hobble down the hallway.

"I know, I know…" Steve mumbles as he limps into the dining room, successfully navigating his way around the table and coming up to the bar on the opposite side of the kitchen. "But I can't sit around and watch daytime television anymore…I feel like it's lowering my IQ."

Pepper chuckles and adds the bell peppers she'd been chopping up into the mixing bowl. "I feel like that's a pretty fair assessment of most daytime television."

"Seriously, who can keep track of all of it?" Steve asks, slumping into the nearest chair and propping his crutches against the edge of the table. "I mean how can Dahlia's twin sister come back from the grave if she died in that hit and run accident five years ago? And David and Marco are planning to steal Carolyn's baby once she goes into labor because she somehow indirectly caused Tiffany to have a miscarriage back in September. Was the baby's father Jared's stepson? I never figured that part out…"

Pepper shrugs and begins scooping the contents of the mixing bowl into a plastic container. "You should have seen the one a few years ago that combined aliens and the Bermuda Triangle."

Steve shakes his head. "Glad I was still frozen for that one."

"I think a lot of people wished they had been frozen for that one," Pepper counters as she snaps the lid on the container and labels the top of it with a permanent marker.

The upper floors of the Tower are almost completely empty save for Steve and Pepper. Clint and Natasha were away on some covert mission for S.H.I.E.L.D and wouldn't be back until the next morning. Hulk and Thor were busy helping clear rubble and debris from the still partially collapsed subway tunnel downtown and Tony was taking care of all the press coverage and PR involved with the Avengers aid during the rescue and subsequent clean-up. In the absence of the other Avengers, Pepper was left in charge of their still healing and injured Captain.

As far as Avenger-sitting went, Pepper had to admit that Steve is by far the easiest to keep an eye on; he hadn't made so much as a peep all morning and had been loyally confined to his room for the majority of the day. Part of it might have been from the fact that he was still achy and sore from his healing injuries or it could be from that fact that Bruce had threatened to let Hulk sit on him if he caught him up and moving around before his leg was healed. Either way, Steve had been obediently tucked away in his room until now. Pepper can't blame him if he's beginning to get a bit stir crazy.

"Well, since I think daytime soap operas fall into the category of cruel and unusual punishment I won't tell Bruce you skipped out of your room to avoid them. In exchange, you have to hang out in here so I can keep an eye on you and make sure you trip over you crutches again."

"Deal," Steve returns with a smile. He's still bruised and scraped from the tunnel collapse but the majority of the broken bones had almost completely healed and the stitches had come out the night before. His leg is still braced in cast up to his thigh but with the rate he's healing, he'll be out of it by the next morning. Still, Bruce had insisted on both the crutches and the cast to ensure the bone set properly but so far Steve had found them to be more of a hindrance than a help. The cast is stiff and uncomfortable and he's beginning to feel antsy just from having it sit on his skin.

He watches silently for a minute as Pepper pulls out another plastic container and begins scooping chopped vegetables and sliced chicken into it. She snaps on the lid and labels it like she did the other one, passing it to the side. The entire kitchen smells like a combination of fresh vegetables and baked goods, not all together a bad mix but a bit odd nonetheless. Between the plastic containers that are slowly beginning to pile up on the edge of the counter and the muffin tins that are taking up literally every available flat surface in the kitchen, Steve is just a little bit confused. "What are you doing?" Steve finally asks as Pepper stacks the containers on top of each other.

Pepper blinks and looks over at him, seemingly coming out of whatever thoughts she had been mulling through. "Oh, I'm making freezer meals," she tells him simply, popping open the freezer behind her and pushing the containers onto one of the shelves. "I found out a long time ago that Tony will use any excuse necessary to explain why he hasn't consumed anything but granola bars and coffee in three days and his favorite one is, 'well I didn't have time to make anything'."

Pepper rolls her eyes and makes her voice deeper, doing her best impression of Tony. "Of course I didn't eat anything today, Pepper, I was too busy developing nuclear fusion in the basement. I didn't have time to do something stupid like eat. By the way, there's a wormhole in the broom closet." She pauses for a second and frowns. "You know, I kind of wish I was joking about that last part."

She shakes her head and holds up one of the containers proudly, the lid labeling the contents as stir-fry chicken. "These are all pre-made, all the ingredients included, and they're much healthier than the Burger King binges he goes on. Literally all he has to do is toss it in a skillet and he's done."

Steve smirks a bit. "That's still asking a lot, especially if he's caught up with something in his lab."

Pepper shrugs slightly. "That's true but at least he can't use the excuse of it taking up too much time anymore."

"Fair enough," Steve says with a nod, his eyes landing on a muffin tin near his elbow. It's completely filled with very large, vaguely pink muffins. Looking up, he counts at least fifteen other tins sitting on everything from the top of the refrigerator to the arms of the couches. The living room and kitchen of Stark Tower had transformed into a bakery filled with pink muffins. "So what's the explanation behind the twenty dozen muffins?"

Pepper looks over to one of the tins like she just now realized they were still in the room. "Oh, that's just stress baking," she explains away simply.

Steve frowns. "Stress baking?"

"Yeah, it's like an outlet I use whenever I'm feeling stressed out," Pepper says, plucking a muffin from the tin on the stove and walking across the kitchen to hand it to Steve. "Some people do stress cleaning or stress shopping. I bake."

Steve unwraps the muffin and takes a bite. It's really good, a combination of oranges and cranberries, and it's big enough that it takes up his entire palm. He chews thoughtfully and frowns again. "Why are you stressed? Something wrong?"

Pepper shakes her head and swipes some hair away from her face. "No, nothing really. Nothing serious." She pauses her various kitchen preparations and sighs heavily. "Tony has a huge business meeting next week with the CEO from this company in Japan that's one of the leading pioneers in clean energy outside of Tony's work and if the meeting goes well the company is planning on investing pretty heavily into Stark Industries."

"Well that shouldn't be too bad," Steve says around another bite of muffin. "I figured business meetings were something Tony excelled at."

"Well yeah, normally they're not a problem…" Pepper fades off as she scrapes off her cutting board into another bowl.

"But?"

"But this is the second meeting Tony has had with this man and he really needs to make a good impression or else the entire company is going to close it's doors and seek investment somewhere else."

Steve frowns and quirks an eyebrow. "Second meeting? Did the first one not go well or something?"

"Oh no, the first meeting went perfectly," Pepper says absently, resuming her near frantic chopping and taking out her anxiety on a helpless onion. "At least it would have gone perfectly had Tony remembered there was such a meeting."

"Oh," is all Steve can think to say.

"Yeah, 'oh'," Pepper agrees, gesturing vaguely with her knife. "He forgot all about the meeting. He got caught up doing some kind of test with one of his suits and I was out of town at a conference so I wasn't here to get him out of his lab and to the meeting on time. I left notes all over his lab and his office, I called him that morning to remind him, I even got JARVIS to set alarms that would go off every five minutes until Tony left the Tower but-"

"But he forgot," Steve finishes for her.

"Yes!" Pepper cries in exasperation. "He turned off his phone and found a way to rewire the alarms and silence JARVIS while he was working so he completely skipped the meeting! It took three months before I could even get through to the CEO again and another four to convince him to come back for a second meeting."

Pepper sighs and dumps the demolished onion into her bowl. "Tony doesn't think it's a big deal but this company is one of the only rivals of Stark Industries and having them as an ally rather than a rival would be a huge bonus in our field. I've been stressing this to Tony for weeks now and he barely even seems fazed by how important this meeting is." Having nothing left to chop or slice or mince, Pepper sighs again and begins rocking the knife back and forth along the edge of the cutting board. "So yeah…you could say I'm a little bit high strung right now."

Steve nods thoughtfully and carefully folds his empty muffin wrapper. "Well, if you'd like, we can all pitch in and try to make him take the meeting more seriously. Convince him that's it's something he needs to focus on."

Pepper smiles gratefully. "That would be great. I'd really appreciate the extra help."

Steve returns her smile. "Sure thing, it's no trouble."

A brief silence fills the kitchen and dining room as Pepper locates a bag of carrots and begins slicing them carefully. Steve watches silently, paying attention to the way her hands move across the board as she cuts through the vegetable. It's no longer the frantic, frenzied chopping she'd been doing earlier, it's slower and more deliberate, almost as if her confession regarding Tony's business meeting had taken some of the stress of the situation away. Steve doesn't mind providing moral support; he's a good listener and is glad to offer advice for anyone on the team. Pepper usually seems so unflappable and composed that he never really thought about the high stress she must be under throughout the day.

"You know, it's kind of funny," she says after a few more seconds of silence, pulling Steve out of his thoughts. "Tony likes to tease me about my tension cooking but I know he secretly enjoys it." She smiles at Steve and shrugs one shoulder. "I think coming back to a home cooked meal means a lot to him. His family life wasn't the greatest when he was a kid so having someone care enough to cook dinner for him really helps to ground him, you know?"

Steve smiles a bit wistfully and nods. "Yeah, I remember that feeling." Even though it's been decades since his mother died, he can still remember the feeling he got when he came home and found his mother preparing something in the kitchen. His mother had been a fantastic cook and she knew how to make a meal with whatever little they had at the time. Cooking helped her take her mind off the world around them, off the despair and misery that seemed to fill the city right up to their front door. Had food not been so scarce, Steve was pretty sure his mother would have been a stress baker as well.

Pepper seems to realize what's going on in Steve's head without him ever saying a word and her eyes widen suddenly. "Oh God…Steve, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean…I mean that's not what I-"

Steve blinks, surprised by her reaction, before it dawns on him what's going on. "Oh no, no it's not a big deal." He offers her an easy, placating smile. "Sorry, I didn't mean to worry you. I just meant that I know what you mean, about having a home cooked meal and all. It really makes a difference."

Pepper still looks unsure, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth for a second in contemplation.

"Pepper, it's okay. Really," Steve insists, trying his best to convince her that she hadn't upset him in any way. "It was a long time ago, nothing to be concerned with now. I was just agreeing with your earlier opinion."

Pepper hesitates for a second longer before nodding just slightly and goes back to rocking her blade across the cutting board. The silence lasts for about five seconds before she can't stand it anymore. "How old were you," she begins quietly, glancing up from the cutting board and catching Steve's eye. "When your mother died?"

It's Steve's turn to look uncomfortable and he fidgets with the remains of his muffin wrapper absently. "Uh…seven, I think. I was still a kid, I know that."

Pepper wants to argue that he is still technically a kid but she doesn't say anything. She tries to imagine what it was like for Steve when he was a child, growing up alone during the most economically crippled time in history. No wonder he wanted to join the army so badly; it was probably one of the only stable things that could be offered at the time.

Steve smiles a bit before he continues. "You know, when I was a kid I didn't know if anyone on earth could work as hard as my mother. She had two jobs for as long as I could remember, working sometimes 16-18 hours every day just to keep a roof over our heads and make sure we didn't get turned out onto the street. She was smart too, one of the smartest women I'd ever met. She made sure I went to school and got a decent education even though we had almost no money to do so." Steve smiles and looks down at the table, tracing the wood fibers across the smooth surface. "She taught me to be strong even when I knew I wasn't; she told me to always stand up for what was right even if no one else would."

He spares a glance up at Pepper. "You remind me a lot of her sometimes. I think if she were still alive today you would probably like her."

Pepper is speechless for a second, not having the faintest idea of what to say in response. To find out that she reminded Steve of his mother, a woman he obviously adored and thought the absolute world of, was an honor she never even considered. "She sounds amazing," Pepper says after a minute and that compliment feels like an understatement even in her own ears. She wonders how Steve's mother would feel if she learned her son had grown up to become a national hero. It was already a bit surreal to realize she was talking about freezer meals and muffins with Captain America in the dining room; she wonders how it would feel to be the parent of said super hero and see all that he had become.

"She loved to cook too, that's another thing you two have in common," Steve continues, pulling Pepper back to the present. "Anything she could get her hands on would go into something in the kitchen. It was never very much but my mother could turn something as simple as potatoes into the greatest meal in the world."

Pepper smiles and nods in agreement. "My grandmother was the same way. She was one who taught me how to bake when I was a little girl; pretty much anything she made in the kitchen could put Martha Stewart to shame."

"Who?"

Pepper chuckles and shakes her head, forgetting Steve still hadn't caught up on all the pop culture references used today. "No one important," she tells him simply, glancing back across the room at the still bruised and battered young man. "What was your favorite thing your mother used to cook for you? Anything in particular?"

Steve thinks for a minute, frowning just slightly as he tries to recover a long forgotten memory. "Chicken soup," he says finally with a kind of assertive nod. "She'd save up for weeks and finally have enough to buy a game hen from the butcher down the street. Our neighbor downstairs had this little garden she took care of in the back yard and she paid my mother in fresh vegetables in exchange for sewing and laundry work. She only ever made it a few times that I can remember but it was the best chicken soup I'd ever had."

Pepper thinks for a second and comes to an idea. "I could try to make it for you."

Steve blinks in confusion and looks up. "What?"

"Chicken soup," Pepper clarifies, setting her knife on the cutting board and walking across to one of the cabinets. She pulls out a small yellow box filled with hand-written recipes on index cards and shuffles through them. "My grandmother gave me a recipe for chicken soup when I was a kid and told me she would swear by it. 'A soup to fix what ails you' she told me; she said she used to make it for my mother and my uncles whenever they were sick and that it was better than any medicine money could ever buy." She locates the recipe in the box and pulls it out. "I can make it for you if you'd like."

"Pepper, you don't have to-"

"Steve please," Pepper interrupts him gently. "Let me do this for you. You said yourself it's been a long time since you had a home cooked meal and I don't mind cooking up something extra for you." She smiles and shrugs one shoulder. "Besides, it's been a long time since I pulled this recipe out and I think I have some tricks up my sleeve that might improve it."

Steve still looks a bit unsure but nods slightly. "Okay, I mean if you're sure you don't mind-"

"I don't mind," Pepper assures him gently but firmly. "It might give you a little taste of home that you haven't had in a while." When she sees Steve smile she continues. "But if I'm going to make this for you then you're going to have to compromise with me and go lay down on the couch and get some more rest. You still look like you took on a prize fighter and lost. Miserably."

Steve smiles again and nods. "Sounds like a fair trade to me. As long as I'm not stuck watching soap operas again."

"I think JARVIS can probably find something more suitable for you," Pepper tells him as Steve stands slowly, gathering his crutches back under his arms and limping his way into the living room. Once she's sure that he's on the couch and not going anywhere for a while, she turns to the refrigerator and begins pulling out the ingredients she needs for the soup.

Keeping the recipe card tucked in one hand, she gathers the vegetables from the bottom drawer and the remaining chicken she hadn't used for the freezer meals. The recipe called for roasted chicken but she figures sautéed would work just as well given the right seasoning. She lays out her ingredients on the cutting board and begins carefully chopping and dicing the various vegetables the recipe called for.

She reads the recipe several times, paying close attention to the details as far as spices and flavors are concerned and adding a few touches of personal flair when she sees the opportunity arise. The repetitive motion of the blade as she slices through the carrots and onions helps ease her mind and give her something else to focus on rather than the chaotic thoughts that had been swirling through her head for the past few days. Besides, the bonus with cooking for the Tower meant that the food was going to good use and wouldn't be wasted; someone would eat it, that was a certainty.

She's just finished adding the sliced chicken to a skillet on the stove when she hears the gentle push-pull of Steve's snoring coming from the living room. If Tony's stories were to be believed, Steve was apparently a troubled sleeper (but then again, who wasn't as far as the Tower was concerned?) so Pepper carefully pulls out a pot from under the cabinet and flicks the stove on, moving quietly to avoid waking him. She scoops the rest of her ingredients into the pot and fills it with water, setting it on the stove next to skillet to boil. It only takes a few minutes to cook the chicken and once that's done, she adds it to the broth and vegetable mixture and leaves it to cook.

Pepper turns and looks out across the kitchen, taking stock of the muffin tins littered all over the room. Now to do something about all these muffins…

**OOOOO**

It's a little less than an hour after Steve falls asleep that he jerks himself awake, wincing a bit when it jars his still healing injuries. For the briefest of moments, he's confused and disoriented, staring up at the ceiling critically for a few seconds to remember where he is. Ever since the ice, he often wakes up in this way: panicked and misplaced, unsure of where he is or even _when_ he is. 1943 or 2013? It's a question that gets tossed through his mind nearly every time. He feels his muscles relax a bit when he realizes he's in the Tower; it's not 1943 but it's at least somewhat familiar now.

He sits up slowly, wincing as his muscles protest irritably with the movement. The TV is droning on with some program about how violins are made but Steve barely pays attention to it. The living room smells like a combination of onions and garlic and chicken and it's enough to make his mouth water and make him nostalgic for home all at the same time. It reminds him of his mother.

Pepper's head pops up from behind the kitchen counter and her eyes land on him. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?" She asks, her voice sheepish and apologetic as she snaps the lid on another container of muffins.

Steve shakes his head with a smile. "No, it wasn't you. Probably best I wake up anyway, I feel like I've done nothing but sleep for about two days now."

Pepper shrugs and moves to stack the muffin containers with the rest that she has stock piled on the table. "That's the best thing you can do when your body is healing though," she tells him over one shoulder before walking back into the kitchen and rummaging through the cabinet to grab a bowl. "Well, since you're awake now, you get to be my guinea pig." She ladles out some of the soup she'd made into the bowl and walks into the living room, sitting on the couch beside Steve and handing it to him.

"You're my taste-tester," she tells him as she passes him a spoon. "You get the vote on what the recipe needs."

Steve takes the spoon and tries some of the soup, Pepper's eyes glued on him the whole time. She watches him carefully, trying to read his expression and gauge his reaction. Finally, she can't take it anymore. "So…?" She asks, drumming her fingers on her knees absently. "Is it okay? Do I need to change anything?"

Steve smiles at her then, warm and genuine, and shakes his head. "No," he says simply, the smile still firmly planted on his face. "It's perfect. Everything about it is perfect. It's exactly like my mother's."

"Really?" Pepper asks dubiously, quirking an eyebrow slightly. "If I need to change anything with the recipe, you can tell me. It's not going to hurt my feelings or anything-"

"No, really," Steve insists, taking another bite for emphasis. "This is some of the best soup I've ever had." He smiles again and in that moment he looks years younger than he should. "I feel like I'm home again."

Pepper returns his smile; she doesn't know whether she wants to laugh or cry and how much joy Steve is getting out of a simple bowl of soup. But even as she thinks that she knows it's more than just the soup. It's familiarity and comfort and home wrapped all into one. It's something Steve hasn't had in a long time and she's glad she's able to provide it for him, no matter how simple it may seem. Steve gives her another boyish smile and he really does look like just a kid then; happy and carefree and taking joy in the small things in life. "Thank you, Pepper."

Pepper smiles affectionately in return. "Anytime, Steve."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading guys! :D


	9. Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're late," Peggy tells him quietly, a small smile playing on her lips and her eyes twinkling playfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sigh* Okay, I think it's only fair to warn you guys that there are a ridiculous amount of feels in this chapter. Seriously, the conversation between me and my muse went almost exactly like this:
> 
> Me: Dude, no...no, no, no. There are too many feels, I can't do it.  
> Muse: Has that really ever stopped you before?  
> Me:...no  
> Muse: Alright then.
> 
> So in short, I apologize for the absurd amount of feelings this chapter may hold. Also, I really hope the age gap between these two doesn't come across as creepy and weird; I was hoping to write their reunion as more of a sweet kind of closure rather than anything sexual and perverse. Steve has been in love with Peggy since the moment he first saw her and I wanted him to be able to voice those feelings at least once (even if Peggy is in her 90s now) In this AU, I'm picturing Peggy being in her early-to-mid 20s (like maybe 25) when they first met during the war so even if Steve was 17 at the time, the age difference between the two of them wouldn't have been that extreme. I hope you all enjoy it though!

"Stop. Stop it," Natasha scolds gently, swatting Steve's hands away from necktie he's fighting with and taking it in her hands instead. "You're going to wrinkle the fabric."

Steve stills almost instantly and stands motionless as Natasha straightens the length of the tie in her hands and begins carefully tying it into an elegant knot. She inspects the silk critically, working out a few of the creases that hadn't managed to be prevented. She tightens the knot gently and presses it flat against Steve's chest. "There, much better."

"You know, a jacket probably wouldn't be a bad idea," Tony pipes up from the table, not bothering to look up from the tiny circuit board he's tinkering with. "A date like this usually requires a jacket."

Steve's eyes widen slightly and he looks between Natasha and Tony in the midst of a small panic. "Do you really think I need a jacket? I don't think I even have one-"

"I think I have one you could borrow," Tony offers, still hunched over the circuit board. "Although it may not fit over those two-by-fours you call shoulders. You might end up looking like Hulk trying to go to Senate meeting."

Natasha shoots Tony a blistering glare and rolls her eyes at the offer. "Ignore him, Steve. You look fine. Besides, she's not going to care if you're wearing a jacket or not; she's just going to be happy to see you."

Steve nods shakily and bounces with nervous energy on the balls of his feet. "I know, it's just…I'm nervous, you know? This is a really big deal."

"Well, don't be," Natasha tells him as she reaches up and straightens his collar slightly. "You being nervous is making me nervous and we all know that bad things happen when I get nervous."

"Last week's disaster in Dublin, for instance," Tony adds in from the table.

"Shut up, Tony," Natasha shoots back in the same breath. She turns her attention back to Steve. "You'll be fine," she assure him after giving him one more once over. "Just be yourself and have a nice time."

Steve nods again and takes a deep, calming breath. "Okay, I'm off then," he says, grabbing his wallet from the counter and tucking it in his back pocket. "See you guys later."

"Curfew at midnight, young man," Tony calls after him as he steps through the door. "A minute later and you're grounded for a month." There's a soft thud followed by a grumbled "ouch" as Natasha pegs Tony in the head with the nearest projectile object she can get her hands on (probably one of those apples in the bowl next to the sink). Steve chuckles softly and turns in the direction of the elevators as the doors swish shut behind him.

**OOOOO**

The taxi ride is slow but Steve knows he still has plenty of time to get across town. It's just barely 6:15 and he had told her he would be there no later than 7. It doesn't stop him from checking his watch and the clock in the cab every few seconds just to be sure. It feels like there are half a dozen butterflies that have taken up residence in his stomach and the closer the car gets to his destination, the more they flutter about anxiously. Steve knows he shouldn't be this nervous but he can't help it; this is the first date he's been on in over 70 years and his nerves are just a tiny bit shot from all the excitement.

The taxi exits off one of the ramps and turns onto a less crowded side street. The streets are still busy and bustling with people, every available inch taken up by some kind of building, but it's far less hectic than the main part of the city. The taxi takes a few more turns and the butterflies in Steve's stomach begin doing somersaults as the building comes into view. The car pulls up into the parking lot and parks and Steve has to remind himself to breathe. He pays the driver and tips him, tucks the wallet back into his pocket and steps out onto the sidewalk.

He forces himself to walk normally, swallowing down the fluttering feeling in his chest as he passes through the automatic doors. The woman sitting behind the front desk in the lobby looks up from her book and smiles at him as he walks in. Steve had become enough of a regular these past few weeks for the staff to recognize him each time he came in. Now they don't even ask who he's here to see, they just nod him in the right direction and let him go on about his way.

Steve walks down the hallway slowly, sparing a glance at the photos on the wall as he passes. Many of them are black and white photographs of the city, artistic and striking in their simplicity, but they fit in well against the cream colored walls and soft florescent lighting. Steve comes up to the correct door and takes a moment to straighten his tie again nervously. He takes a deep, grounding breath and knocks softly.

"Come in," a soft, feminine voice calls from inside the room and Steve suddenly feels his mouth go dry. The door swings open softly and he steps into the room, suddenly feeling more awkward and vulnerable than he can ever remember. She's sitting in the chair next to the window, a book resting lightly in her lap, and Steve feels every bit like the shy, self-conscious teenager he actually is.

"You're late," Peggy tells him quietly, a small smile playing on her lips and her eyes twinkling playfully.

"Oh," Steve stammers nervously, glancing back toward the door and then the window like a startled rabbit. All at once he can hear her voice from all those years ago, telling him not to be late to their date at the Stork Club as his plane hurtles toward the ocean. He's late again, late for their makeup date, she was waiting for him…"Sorry about that; there was a lot of traffic and I thought I had left early enough and-"

Peggy laughs then, soft and happy, and it sounds like the tinkling of tiny bells. "Steve, I'm kidding. You're not late at all, you're right on time." She sets her book aside and stands slowly, age and arthritis causing her movements to be much more cautious and measured than the last time he saw her, all those long years ago. She's wearing a simple blue dress, the fabric nearly enveloping her tiny frame. Her hair is almost completely white now, lingering streaks of brown peaking through here and there, the long, silver strands pulled back into a braid that falls down to the middle of her back. Her face is delicately creased with age, laugh lines and smile lines and all the other wrinkles that are proof of a life well lived. Even in spite of them, Steve still thinks she's beautiful.

Peggy walks toward him then, pausing by the table to pluck a budding rose from the vase of flowers Steve had brought her earlier in the week. She walks over to him and tucks it into the pocket of his shirt, smoothing his tie as she does. "There we are," she says almost to herself, tilting her head slightly to look at the flower. "Red looks good on you."

Steve smiles in spite of himself and feels a blush creep into his cheeks. "I'm just glad you agreed to a second date, ma'am."

Peggy smiles in return, her dark eyes still just as bright and sharp as they had been 70 years ago. "Well, I don't normally agree to a second date to a man who stands me up but I thought I could make an exception in your case. Extenuating circumstances and all."

Steve laughs and shakes his head. "I'm happy I could make it up to you." He'd been coming to see Peggy nearly every other day for close to a month now after JARVIS had located her in the state's records. The search had been a desperate gamble, one he knew had the potential to end in heart-breaking failure, but one that had amazingly had worked out in his favor. Through his visits, Steve had discovered that Peggy had settled in upstate New York after the war, working a few government-based jobs until she retired before finally moving into an assisted living home nearly five years earlier. She'd married briefly in the 1950s but the marriage had lasted just under three years before both went their separate ways. She'd never had any children, her nearest relative being a niece who lived in Rhode Island so family visits were few and far between. Steve had been doing his best to change that during the past few weeks.

He'd come by in the afternoons, spending at least an hour and sometimes more with her, talking about everything and nothing all at once. She would tell him about her life after the war, the places she'd traveled, the things she had done. Peggy told him all about the world he missed, the world he had wanted to see with her by his side. It felt somewhat unfair that he had finally found her again after all these years and that the cruelty of age had stolen what little hope of those memories he still had.

"Now," Peggy says, pulling him from his memories and stepping away, coming to a stop in front of a radio sitting next to the vase of flowers. She turns it on, the music filtering into the room quietly; it's a slow song, one Steve barely remembers from his time before the ice. It's soft and lilting almost like a lullaby. "I believe you still owe me a dance."

Steve chuckles and shifts a bit awkwardly. "I'm afraid I still don't know how. I still may end up stepping on your toes even after all these years."

Peggy smiles and walks back over, taking one of his hands into her small, frail one. "It's alright, I'll show you how." For the briefest second, Steve has a staggering sense of déjà vu as he remembers the last words Peggy ever said to him before he went into the ice. _I'll show you how. Just be there…_ The music is playing soft and slow but Steve can barely hear it over the rush of blood in his ears.

_You must remember this_

_A kiss is just a kiss_

_A sigh is just a sigh_

_The fundamental things apply_

_As time goes by_

Peggy places one of his hands on her waist and keeps the other clasped gently in her own. She's much smaller than he is, the top of her head just barely clearing his shoulder, but she still has the same fire and determination in her eyes that he fell in love with back during the war. Stepping in time with the rhythm of the music, Peggy leads him in very slow, small circles across the room. Her small, delicate body feels even more fragile compared to the solidity of his own and he's so concerned with not holding her too tightly that he begins to lose the rhythm of the music as they continue to dance.

_Moonlight and love songs_

_Never out of date_

_Hearts full of passion_

_Jealousy and hate_

_Woman needs man_

_And man must have his mate_

_That no one can deny_

Steve stumbles a few times, stepping left when he should have stepped right and forward when he should have gone back. He steps on the tips of Peggy's toes a few times and she has the decency to laugh warmly as he scrambles to apologize each time. "This is just not going to work," she says after the fourth time he steps on her toes. She looks down at her feet and comes up with a better solution. Kicking off her shoes, she steps up lightly and balances her own feet on top of Steve's. She barely weighs anything, her small stature still putting her a full foot beneath the top of Steve's head, but she's safely out of the way of getting stepped on again and for the moment, that's all Steve cares about.

"There, that's much better," Peggy says with a smile, resting her cheek against Steve's chest as they continue to dance. Steve tightens his arms around her just slightly, continuing to spin in slow circles to the timing of the music. Peggy is in his arms, holding onto him as they dance, and it all just seems so surreal that Steve doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. He's dreamed of this moment more times than he can count, clung to the image of himself and Peggy slow dancing at the Stork Club with everything he had in those months after the ice. This was all he's ever wanted and now that it's happening, he doesn't know how to feel.

_Well, it's still the same old story_

_A fight for love and glory_

_A case of do or die_

_The world will always welcome lovers_

_As time goes by_

Steve's jaw brushes against the top of Peggy's head and his arms tighten around her just a bit more. His mouth is dry, the words he wants to say halting and caught in his throat, but he feels if he doesn't say them now, he never will. "I never stopped loving you…" he whispers softly, a sacred confession directly from the heart, and part of him hopes that Peggy didn't hear him.

He feels her smile against his chest and her small hands are warm against his back. "And I never stopped believing you would come back." Peggy smiles up at him then, resting her hand against his cheek lightly. "It took you long enough."

Steve wants to laugh but just then he stumbles on the edge of the rug and loses his balance, managing to spin Peggy toward the bed just as they begin to fall. He manages to drop Peggy on the mattress but he's not nearly as lucky, landing somewhat awkwardly on the floor next to the bed with one hand still clinging to her hand.

Peggy laughs in a mixture of surprise and concern, clutching Steve's hand tightly as he struggles to regain his composure. "My goodness!" She chuckles as he manages to right himself into a sitting position on his knees. "That was quite a tumble!"

Steve tries to laugh but he's blushing so much he can barely think straight and the laugh that comes out of his mouth sounds more forced and awkward than he was hoping for. "I told you I didn't know how to dance," he defends self-consciously, a hot flush still coloring his cheeks.

Peggy smiles and shakes her head. "Well, you were doing quite well until the rug cut in." She smiles and reaches out, brushing his hair away from his face and looking at him with that same mix of affection and awe she'd given him so many times before. "I still can't believe it," she mumbles, almost to herself, as she continues to card her fingers through Steve's hair. "You look exactly the way you did the last time I saw you…" She smiles wistfully, her dark eyes soft. "You were so young then…it looks like you haven't aged a day."

Her smile falls just a tiny bit and her hand traces down the side of his face, thumb brushing over his eyebrow lightly and coming to rest just on the outside of his eye. "Except here," she says after a second, looking him in the eyes evenly. "You've aged here."

Steve looks down slightly, unable to meet her gaze and the barely detectable hint of sadness in her eyes. He'd become jaded after the ice, disillusioned and disenchanted with the world he'd woken up in.

Everything was so different now, the world more complicated and shallow than the one he remembers. He knows it shows on his face, the disappointment clear in his eyes no matter how hard he tries to keep it from Peggy. "Sometimes I wish…" he starts and the words fade out even as he's speaking. He's ashamed of them, he feels like a coward just thinking them, but just as it was 70 years ago, he finds that he can't keep anything from Peggy.

"Sometimes I wish I'd never gotten in that plane…" he confesses softly, his eyes still cast down to the ground. "They tell me I was hero, that I was selfless and brave in the face of certain death but I… I'm not a hero, Peggy…I was afraid, I didn't want to die without telling you that I-" he stops himself, his voice wavering just a tiny bit as he speaks. He takes a breath to settle his nerves before he continues. "I wish I could have made it out in time…made it back to you." He looks down at the floor in shame, squeezing her hand gently. "I wanted to give you everything in the world, Peggy…"

Peggy lifts his head gently so his eyes meet hers. She smiles down at him warmly but her eyes are just a tiny bit mistier than they had been earlier. "Steve, you are by far the bravest, most heroic man I've ever met. I don't want you to ever think otherwise. And I was afraid too, afraid for you and afraid of losing you. I knew it was impossible but I always hoped you had somehow survived." She cups his face and blinks past the tears that really have begun to form in her eyes. "And then you were back…you were alive and breathing and saving the city and being the hero I always knew you to be."

Her hand moves up, combing through his hair again gently. "I'm glad you were on that plane, Steve, and do you know why?" Seeing his confusion, she smiles. "Because it gave you a second chance. You were meant to be on that plane, Steve, just as you were meant to come back now. The world needs heroes like you, they need the ones who are brave and fearless and a little bit reckless. The need the ones who are willing to throw themselves on top of a dummy grenade to save their teammates."

Steve laughs breathily at the old memory of himself before the serum, leaping on top of a fake grenade in order to save the rest of his unit. He's surprised Peggy remembers but in a way he's glad as well; it means she saw him even when he wasn't Captain America, she saw him even when he was just tiny Steve Rogers.

"This world is different now," Peggy continues, her fingers curling against the back of his neck just slightly. "It's big and noisy and sometimes terrifying…but it can also be wonderful and exciting and beautiful if you let it. You just have to give it a chance."

Steve smiles and catches her hand, pressing a kiss to the palm of her hand. "I'm sorry, Peggy…" he whispers softly, squeezing her other hand lightly. "There are so many things I've wanted to tell you, so many things we missed…"

Peggy smiles and leans forward, pressing a light kiss to his forehead. "Steve, I would have gladly spent every moment of my life with you," she whispers, resting her forehead against his and closing her eyes. "I would have been yours the moment you asked me." She smiles and pulls away, her thumb brushing against his cheekbone lightly. "But I wouldn't have traded this for the world. The opportunity for you to have a second chance at life, to experience everything this great and wonderful world has to offer…that's all I could ever wish for you."

She smiles again and pulls away, brushing her hand across her eyes with a soft laugh. "Now enough of this kind of talk," she says, cupping his cheek one last time. "Dates aren't supposed to include tears by the end of the evening."

Steve returns her smile and nods. "You're right," he says, kissing the back of her hand softly. "I appreciate the dance lesson even if I did end up on the floor by the end of it."

"Oh believe me, it's not the firs time I've seen someone fall while trying to learn to dance," Peggy says, laughing lightly as she speaks. "My sister and I learned to dance when we were children and there were several people in our class who appeared to have been born with two left feet."

Steve listens silently, smiling a bit as Peggy tells him about the disastrous first lesson she and her sister had taken that ended with Peggy spraining her ankle and her sister breaking a toe. It's an easy segue away from more serious topics and the conversation is comfortable and relaxed between them. Steve feels some of his guilt and regret leave him the longer they speak and he finds that simply being around Peggy has the ability to make him forget all the time they'd lost together.

They're so engrossed in conversation that Steve is surprised to see that it's just past 10:15 on the clock above the window. He's reluctant to leave but Peggy looks drowsy and it feels rude to keep her awake longer when she's obviously tired. "I think I should be taking my leave, ma'am," he tells her as he stands slowly, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek softly. "Thank you for a wonderful evening."

Peggy smiles and squeezes his hand. "It was my pleasure, Steve. Come by tomorrow afternoon and we can finish _To Kill a Mockingbird_." Steve smiles in return and is just turning toward the door when Peggy's voice stops him. "And Steve?"

Steve turns back to face her. "Yes, Peggy?"

"Don't deny yourself a second chance at happiness," Peggy tells him simply, a soft smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "You have a lot to make up for from these past 70 years."

Steve chuckles softly and nods. "I'll keep that in mind. Goodnight, Ms. Carter."

Peggy grins at him. "Goodnight, Captain Rogers."

**OOOOO**

It's a little past 4:30 in the morning when Natasha opens her eyes. The room is dark and quiet, the faintest hints of shadows playing across the darkened ceiling. She sits up slowly, stretching just slightly to shake off the lingering stiffness of sleep. She's not exactly sure why she's awake at such an ungodly hour, her alarm usually doesn't go off until 5, but she figures since she's already awake, she may as well get out of bed.

She changes quickly and silently and steps out into the darkened halls of the Tower. The others are still asleep, or so she assumes, so she creeps quietly down the hall toward the kitchen. As she gets closer, she sees the black and white, dimmed flicker of the TV bouncing off the walls and can just make out the outline of Steve's shoulders from the back of the couch. It's not surprising to see him awake at this time of night; she knows better than anyone how screwed up all of their sleep schedules are. There are varying levels of insomnia all throughout the Tower and it seems that none of them are unaffected by it.

There's a flash of movement to her right and she glances over just in time to see Tony walk past the door with a coffee mug in one hand. Okay, so that's two other Avengers who are also awake at this ungodly hour. Natasha frowns slightly and follows Tony.

"What are you doing?" She asks when she catches him just outside the door to his lab. She knows better than to ask him why he's awake; it's easier to just ask what he's doing when he should be sleeping.

Tony blinks owlishly for a second, probably not realizing anyone else was awake but him, and holds up his coffee mug in response. "I needed more coffee. Why, did we put a ban on it or something?"

"No," Natasha says rolling her eyes slightly. "What are you working on that has you up before dawn. Did you even sleep last night?"

"Uh no," Tony responds casually, leaning one shoulder against the door frame. "I had to run some calibrations with my suit and needed as little distraction as possible, ergo, I waited until everyone else was asleep."

"Uh huh," Natasha mumbles, stifling a yawn behind her hand. "And how long has Steve been sitting in the living room?"

"Steve was in the living room?"

Natasha blinks in surprise, knowing full well that Tony would have had to have almost stepped over Steve in order to get to the kitchen to get more coffee. "Yes, Steve was in the living room. I was wondering if he had been in there long because I never heard him come in last night."

"Huh," Tony answers with a shrug. "I never even saw him, I thought the TV had just been left on. How'd his date go?"

"I don't know, I was asleep before he got back. And since you didn't even know he was in the next room I'm assuming you didn't get the details either."

"Guilty."

Natasha sighs and shakes her head slightly. "Sometimes I think a fire could work it's way through this building and you'd been too caught up working in here to realize it."

"That's actually happened before," Tony counters easily, pushing into his lab with one shoulder. "Let me know how the date went," he calls back to her just as the door swishes closed behind him.

Natasha turns away from the lab and walks back down the hall toward the living room. She rounds the corner to find Steve still sitting on the couch, facing the TV but not actually watching it. Natasha frowns slightly, coming around the corner of the couch slowly. Steve's hands are folded in his lap but there's something gripped in one of them that she can't quite make out. It looks like a rose bud.

The news is flickering faintly on the TV, giving weather reports and stock market updates but Steve doesn't appear to be watching it at all. There's something in his eyes that makes Natasha stop short, an expression she can't quite read but one that she knows isn't right. A heavy, sinking feeling begins to pull at the pit of her stomach as she comes closer. "Steve?"

The younger man looks up at her, blinking in the slow, somewhat startled fashion of someone who was too deep in thought to realize someone else had entered the room. "Oh, hey Natasha," Steve greets her quietly like he's trying to give consideration to the other sleeping members of their team. There's something off about his voice though and Natasha feels the sinking feeling getting heavier.

"Is everything okay?" She asks and almost immediately she knows it's not.

Steve tries for a smile but it looks thin and transparent like a broken stained-glass window. He hesitates for a long, silent moment before he can bring himself to speak "I uh…I got a call about an hour ago…" he begins and the rose bud in his hand trembles just slightly.

"Oh, Steve…" Natasha mumbles as she sits down on the couch beside him.

Steve runs a hand through his hair, the barely blossomed rose never leaving his fingers. He tries to laugh but it sounds choked. "They said she looked peaceful."

Natasha is trying to think of something to say when Tony comes around the corner, making a beeline for the coffee pot again. "Hey super soldier," he calls from the kitchen, turning to face Steve and Natasha once he's filled his mug. "How'd the-" he stops almost immediately, catching sight of the younger man's stiff body language and the close proximity of Natasha sitting on the couch next to him. He frowns at the sight; there was only one reason for both that he could think of.

Setting the coffee mug on the counter, he walks into the living room slowly. Steve is staring down at the rose in his hand and Tony manages to catch Natasha's eye. The look on her face confirms what he had already suspected. "When?"

"About an hour ago," Natasha tells him simply, watching as the billionaire nods in understanding.

"I'll take care of it," he tells her quietly, unsure if Steve had even heard him speak. From what little he knew about Steve's visits with Peggy, he'd determined that she had almost no living relatives that would be contacted in the event of her death, let alone anyone who could handle funeral arrangements. He feels it's the least he can do in a situation like this. Tony looks at the younger man one last time, patting him on the shoulder gently before stepping away from the couch.

A few more seconds of silence passes before Natasha tries to speak again. "Steve-"

"At least I didn't miss our date this time," Steve interjects with a small smile. It lingers for a second and then there's a minute, almost imperceptible crumpling of his features nearly hidden by the flickering shadows cast by the TV and Natasha can see the walls beginning to break.

Natasha says nothing, she simply reaches forward and pulls him into her arms, tucking his head beneath her chin. She's not expecting Steve to sob and fall apart in her arms but the small tremor that works its way through his body and the way he grips her shirt in one hand is expected. Natasha adjusts her body so Steve can lean against her more easily and cards her fingers through his hair slowly.

Steve lets his eyes slide closed from a mixture of fatigue and grief, his body suddenly feeling heavier and older than he can ever remember. He tries to focus on the rose in his hand, Natasha's soft voice whispering what he can only assume are soothing words in Russian. He can feel her warmth against his cheek, smell the floral perfume of the shampoo she'd used the night before. He can hear Tony speaking softly in the kitchen, making arrangements for flowers and a proper service. Steve tries to concentrate on all of that instead of the cold emptiness he feels just below his sternum.

He tries not to think about the life he could have had with Peggy if he'd never gone into the ice. He tries not to think about her voice breaking, the last words he heard before the cold darkness took him. He doesn't want to think about all the things he missed, the questions he'd never be able to ask her now, the things he'd never get to say. He wants to focus on the positive, the fact that even though their time together was limited, he managed to be reunited with her in the end. He tries to be happy about the fact that he got to see her one last time but his heart still feels like it was cheated.

Another weight settles on the couch beside him after a few minutes and he catches the scent of coffee in the air. Steve doesn't open his eyes but he feels Tony rest a hand on his knee in a comforting gesture. Natasha is still mumbling soft reassurances in Russian and Steve lets his grip on her shirt loosen just the tiniest bit. He takes a slow, deep breath, his fingers brushing over the freshly opened petals of the rose, holding onto the memory of Peggy placing it in his pocket just hours earlier.

All at once there's the briefest feeling of warmth that has nothing to do with his teammates sitting next to him, a shift in the atmosphere that he can't explain. The cold feeling in his chest dissipates just a bit and he feels like he can breathe past the emptiness inside. With his eyes closed, he can clearly see Peggy's face just the way he remembered it all those years ago, young and smiling and beautiful. Her lips are red, her eyes are dark, and she smiles at him in a way he knows is only for him. Steve keeps his eyes closed, holding onto the image as long as he can, forcing his mind to remember absolutely every last detail.

He can hear her words echoing in his head from earlier that evening but this time her voice is younger, clearer, the one that had stayed on the radio with him as his plane hurtled into the ocean. _Don't deny yourself a second chance at happiness…_

Steve opens his eyes slowly, looking down at the rose in his hand. For the briefest second, he remembers the smell of Peggy's perfume like it's in the room with him. Her hand clutching his own, her head resting against his shoulder as they share their first and last dance. In his mind though, they're dancing alone at the Stork Club, not Peggy's room at the retirement home. In his mind he's still awkward and clumsy and he still can't dance but that doesn't matter because Peggy is warm and beautiful in his arms, her red dress matching the shade of lipstick perfectly, and her dark eyes are looking at only him. That's the image his mind clings to when they share their dance, that's the memory he wants to keep.

Steve closes his eyes again, holding onto that image, letting the words of _As Time Goes By_ echo softly in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading guys! :D


	10. Store

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he's completely honest with himself, his pride is still smarting a bit from the fact that three people in less than an hour assumed he was old enough to be Steve's father. Seriously, ow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing I will point out about this chapter is that I really have no reason for everyone who approaches Tony to not recognize him. He seems like he'd be a pretty big celebrity! It helped to write feigned ignorance though so that's my excuse lol. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it!

"Oh, you've got to be _kidding_ me," Pepper mutters irritably as she snatches the magazine off the rack and flips it open.

Tony nearly bumps into her due to the sudden stop and glances down at the glossy pages of the magazine in her hands. It's filled with the typical who-wore-it-best and celebrity scandals that most tabloids are made up of but Pepper is glaring at a page with a grainy, blurry image of herself, emerging from a gym with a gym bag tossed over one shoulder and a baseball cap obscuring her face. Pepper's expression is one of irritation and incredulity as she glares down at the magazine in her hands.

"Problem, dear?" Tony asks innocently only to get a seriously annoyed girlfriend round on him.

"Yes, there's a problem!" Pepper snaps, pointing at the picture in the magazine. "These reporters are speculating about whether or not I have a baby bump hidden beneath my sweatshirt!"

Tony looks closer at the picture, and sure enough, just below the image is a caption that read: "Could the girlfriend of billionaire Tony Stark be pregnant?" The rest of the column was filled with other candid shots of Pepper coming out of buildings and walking down the street, all while wearing baggier clothes than the usual slim pencil skirts she normally wears. Witnesses were all aflutter, claiming that Pepper was trying to cover up the telltale baby bump and hide her pregnancy from the media. 'Reliable sources' even claimed to known about her secret cravings.

"This is ridiculous!" Pepper rants beside him, reading further through the column. "I'm not having secret pregnancy cravings because I'm not secretly pregnant!"

Tony wants to laugh and tease her about being ashamed and hiding their secret lovechild but he knows how private Pepper is and he knows how equally irked she becomes when that privacy is invaded. "Pepper, it's just a story," he tells her simply as his eyes pass over the pictures again. "These reporters have nothing better to do so they like to make up fictional stories to go along with whatever pictures they can take of the celebrities they're stalking," Tony explains, hoping the casual brush off would alleviate some of her ire. When Pepper's shoulders relax just a fraction, he knows he's on the right track.

"You remember a few months ago when all the entertainment news and tabloids were convinced that Bruce and I were having a secret romantic tryst because someone happened to snap a picture of me standing next to him when he was post-Hulk naked?"

Pepper nods just slightly, allowing him to continue. "And you remember when all those reporters kept sneaking around the Tower trying to catch us in the act so they could add validity to their stories?"

"Yes," Pepper grumbles in a resigned sort of way.

"It's the same kind of thing here," Tony says, plucking the magazine from her hands and glancing over the pictures once more. "These stories sell magazines and create scandal and you know how the media loves scandal." At Pepper's slight smirk, Tony pushed on. "Hell, if I were you, I would be flattered. These magazines only follow around the beautiful people and trust me, sweetheart, you are one of the beautiful people."

Pepper smiles a bit and rolls her eyes, taking the magazine back and putting it back in the rack. "'Beautiful people,' please," Pepper mutters dismissively. "How beautiful can I be? I'm wearing sweatpants in that photo and my hair is in a ponytail and they're wondering if I'm pregnant; that doesn't seem like a combination for 'beautiful people.'"

"Well, trust me babe," Tony says, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her a bit closer. "If you were pregnant, you would definitely be one mother I'd like to-"

"Tony!" Pepper hisses just as a woman her two children pass by the magazine rack.

"Fine," Tony relents with heaving, overly dramatic sigh. "I won't proclaim my burning and undying love for you in the grocery store. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," Pepper tells him, kissing him on the lips lightly before stepping away from the rack. "Come on, go find Steve and let's get out of here before the press shows up starts asking questions about whether the baby is a boy or a girl."

"Okay, first of all, we would definitely be having a boy. And second, why do I have to go find Steve?" Tony asks, ignoring the slightly petulant tone in his own voice. "Can't we just let him wander around without adult supervision for a few more hours?"

"No," Pepper says with a shake of her head. "You know as well as I do that if Steve is left alone for longer than five minutes he starts doing charity work. Besides, I need to run next door to place an order for your meeting next week and it will much faster if we divide and conquer and then meet back in the middle."

"Pepper-" Tony whines but he's cut off when Pepper speaks again.

"And," she says with a conspiratorial little smirk. "The sooner we get home, the sooner you get your surprise."

Tony, being just as bad as a five-year-old at the promise of a reward for doing something, instantly perks up at the suggestion. "A surprise, huh? I kinda like the sound of that. What kind of surprise?"

Pepper just smirks again. "Well, it may or may not have to do with a little black something I picked up on the way home the other day. But the longer we stand here talking about it, the longer it sits on the floor in the backseat of the car and not the floor of the bedroom."

Tony coughs a bit at the mental image that suddenly invades his head and feels a flush of blood rise to his face. "Well, when you put it like that…"

Pepper gives him another smile and pecks him on the lips. "Go find Steve and I'll meet you both in the car."

"Aye, aye, cap'n," Tony tells her with a mock salute, watching as she chuckles at him before turning and walking back toward the door. It's only after she's disappeared through the sliding glass doors that he turns around and grudgingly tromps into the store.

**OOOOO**

It wasn't finding Steve that was the problem, it was the fact that Tony absolutely hated navigating his way around the grocery store. The aisles were too long and too crowded for his liking and he couldn't go five steps without an eager, too-chipper employee popping out of the shadows and asking him if he needed assistance. No matter where he was in the store, they were right behind him, waiting and watching and ready to jump out like minimum wage vultures the minute he looked lost.

He'd made the mistake of sending Steve off, alone, in the grocery store and was instantly regretting that decision. Seeing as how times had changed dramatically in the past 70 years that Steve had been froze, the younger man tended to examine every single product on the shelf before making a decision. On good days, he only did it once; on bad days, he'd pick up the same item three or four times before he finally made a decision. It was a long and tedious process but Steve was nothing if not thorough in his examination of the products in the store. None of the others agreed to go shopping with him anymore thanks to it.

And now, he was alone and loose in the store and it was Tony's job to track him down. It was going to be like finding a blond needle in a red and white painted haystack. Tony was tempted to just install a tracking device on him when he wasn't looking but Natasha threatened to break both of his thumbs if he did that so that idea was quickly tossed out the window. Still, he could at least send Steve off with a pocket flare the next time he decided to go on a fantastic adventure through the grocery store. It would make finding him a hell of a lot easier too.

Tony is just about to give up and pull out his cell phone to call him when he rounds a corner and comes face-to-face with Steve and a little old lady in the aisle. The elderly woman is clinging to her basket like it's the only thing keeping her from falling to the floor and Steve is reaching up above her head to the top shelf to grab the 12-pack of paper towels.

"Here you are, ma'am," he says with a smile as he turns around and places the paper towels in her basket.

"Oh, thank you so much, young man," the woman gushes, face face spreading into a wrinkled smile. "I never could have reached those without your help."

"My pleasure," Steve tells her with another smile, looking up and finally catching Tony's eye. "Oh, hey," he says, waving slightly.

Tony walks forward, quelling the urge to pull out his phone and add another tally mark to the "Steve's Good Deeds" list Pepper started on his phone. She was right, Steve really couldn't be left alone for five minutes without volunteering to do some kind of charity work.

The woman sees him approaching and smiles brightly at him. "Such a nice young man you have here," she tells him, approval literally coloring her voice as she speaks.

Tony frowns a bit at the implication but shakes it off. "Yep, like a great big boy scout, this one."

"It's so rare to find young people with such nice manners this day and age," the woman continues with a glance back at Steve who's looking equally parts 'aw shucks' and embarrassed. "You did a good job raising him."

Tony quirks an eyebrow because this is the second time she's implied that Steve was his son. Still, he can't exactly snap back at a senior citizen so he simply shrugs in response. "Yep, his mother and I are very proud of him."

"As you should be," the woman tells him with a smile. She turns back to her basket and grips the handle. "Well, you two have a nice day," she tells them just before tottering off down the aisle.

Tony allows five seconds to pass before he walks down the aisle and snatches Steve by the elbow. "Steve, I sent you to find groceries, not get your 'aiding the elderly' badge."

"I know," Steve counters as he reclaims his own basket a few feet away. "But she needed help and I couldn't just let her struggle to reach up there on her own."

The older man rolls his eyes with a bit of a sigh. "God, you give even Mother Theresa a bad name."

"Who?"

"Nevermind. Come on, we need to get going. We're supposed to meet Pepper at the car."

"Okay," Steve says as they continue walking, pulling out a list (an honest to God list!) from his pocket and crossing out a few items. "I have almost everything, we just need to get-"

"Excuse me," a woman calls out, catching their attention as they pass by. She's sitting behind a table with large banner proclaiming 'East Valley High School Choir' across the center of it. "Would you be interested in taking part our raffle? We're selling tickets for our students to go to a competition next month and you have the chance to win some really great prizes!"

Before either of them can respond, she hops up and gestures to the large black and steel grill behind her. "This is our grand prize," she tells them with a grin. "A grill like this normally runs a couple hundred dollars but if you win the raffle it's completely free!" She turns her attention back to them with another winning smile. "It's a great gift for dad too," she says with a wink at Tony but her attention is directed at Steve.

Tony blinks twice before he realizes this the third time in less than ten minutes someone had implied that he was Steve's father.

"Would you be interested in purchasing a ticket?" The woman asks, glancing back and forth between the two of them and smiling brightly.

Steve is about to say something but Tony cuts him off, grabbing him by the elbow and steering him away from the table. "Sorry lady," he says over one shoulder as he walks away. "Not interested in choirs or grills, thanks for the offer though."

At the woman's bewildered look and Steve's glare, Tony sighs and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a $20 bill and walking back to drop it on the table. "Have a nice day," he tells her before dragging Steve away again.

Once they're out of earshot, Steve looks at him in confusion. "What was that all about? She was just trying to help out that school."

Tony sighs; he really doesn't feel like explaining the situation to Steve so he settles on something equally simple. "Fundraisers and raffles like that are rigged; only half of the money actually goes to the students, the rest goes to the school district. Giving her cash directly makes it more likely that it will go to the student and not somewhere else. Make sense?"

Steve puzzles over this for a second before nodding slightly. "Yeah, I guess that makes more sense. Good call."

Tony accepts the compliment without a word, happy enough that he didn't have to explain his implied paternity to the younger man. Today had taken a sharp turn down the rabbit hole and Tony was more than ready to get out of the general public before it got worse.

They approach the cash registers and are greeted with a smiling attendant asking if they had found everything they needed. Tony gives a mumbled reply as Steve engages in the typical check-out small talk with the clerk while they place their items on the conveyor belt. The younger man looks down into the basket suddenly and frowns.

"Shoot, I forgot the fabric softener," he mutters more to himself than Tony. He steps away from the basket and starts walking back down the main aisle. "I'll be right back," he calls over his shoulder as he makes his way back into the heart of the store.

"You've got two minutes," Tony shoots back, continuing to pull things out of the cart and placing them on the belt. "If you're not back by then, I'm leaving you here and you can walk home."

The attendant chuckles softly as she scans the items that pass across her register. She places them in plastic bags beside her and hands them to Tony to put back in the cart. "The joys of grocery shopping, huh?" She says conversationally as Tony places the last of their items on the belt.

"You don't know the half of it," Tony says with a sigh, watching as the woman scans a box of trash bags, paper towels, Windex, dish soap, and a few other necessities they needed for the Tower. It was nothing but the basics for now, they'd conquer the food shopping later in the week once everyone was back from their various missions and research trips.

The woman loads the last of the items into a plastic bag and hands it to him, hesitating to ring up the total until Steve returns. She glances at the bags with half-interest and gives him a soft smile. "Dorm room shopping?"

Tony doesn't quite catch the question as he pulls out his credit card. "No, apartment actually."

"Ahh, I gotcha," she says, taking the card and placing it next to the register. "The basics are always the hardest to buy because you never realize what you need until you don't have it. We ran into that problem when my oldest moved out."

Tony looks up from his wallet with a kind of disbelief plastered across his face. Seriously? _Seriously?!_

The woman is undeterred and continues on talking, completely oblivious to Tony's expression. "It's hard sending them away for the first time," she says a bit wistfully, looking back out into the store. "I think I was more prepared for it than my husband was; poor thing, it hit him harder than he expected." She gives him a knowing smile. "Might want to watch out, you never realize how much you'll miss your kids until they leave."

Tony wants to respond with something, anything, to the fact that this woman was not only implying that Steve was his son but that he's sending him away for college for the first time. And even worse, that's he's going to develop empty nest syndrome from the whole thing!

He's just about to open his mouth when Steve reappears with a bottle of fabric softener, handing it to the attendant with a smile. She scans it and places it in a bag, handing the bag to Steve and then running Tony's credit card.

Tony is still too dumbfounded to accept the receipt when she hands it to him so Steve takes it instead and drops it inside one of the bags. Tony still doesn't move when she passes the credit card back to him so Steve takes that as well, raising an eyebrow at the older man. "Tony, you ready to go?"

"Yep." The word comes out sharp and fast like a cobra strike and the attendant actually flinches just the tiniest bit when he says it. She recovers quickly and wishes them a nice day but Tony makes it a point to adamantly ignore her as they turn away from the register.

Steve hands him his credit card as they step away. "Here you go, pops," Steve says casually, flippantly, like he didn't just lend every amount of credence to the woman's assumptions. "Can't walk around leaving your money everywhere."

Tony takes the card wordlessly and has to literally fight the urge to peg Steve in the shoulder for the remark. He doesn't get it, he wouldn't understand, and Tony really just doesn't have the mental faculties available at the moment to explain. Not only that, if he's completely honest with himself, his pride is still smarting a bit from the fact that three people in less than an hour assumed he was old enough to be Steve's father. Seriously, ow.

They walk out into the parking lot and meet up with Pepper just as she's opening the passenger side door. Pepper notices the strange look on Tony's face as they approach but wisely says nothing, choosing instead to help Steve load the groceries into the back of the car. A few minutes later, they're packed and ready and driving back toward the Tower.

As the store disappears in the rearview mirror, Tony can't help but feel some of Pepper's earlier agitation creeping into his thoughts. He brushes it aside as much as he can, concentrating instead on the idea of a little black something being on the floor of his bedroom very soon after they get back to the Tower.

**OOOOO**

It's about three days later when Pepper comes waltzing into his lab with a peculiar little smile on her face. She pecks him on the lips gently and places a glossy new magazine on his desk. Tony's eyebrow quirks for a second as he reaches across the table to pick it up.

"You said they only follow the beautiful people, babe," Pepper tells him with a grin as she leans over him to read, resting her chin just on top of shoulder. "And you are beautiful."

The center story of the magazine, the one that takes up two full pages of colored photos and black and white ink, has a headline that reads: "Is Tony Stark Fostering a Secret Lovechild?" And there, in the middle of the article, is a picture of he and Steve at the grocery store and walking out into the parking lot next to one another.

"'Sources claim that Tony has re-connected with a long lost son'?!" The man in question blurts incredulously. "'The resemblance is uncanny'?! How can it be uncanny? We're not even related!"

Pepper just smiles and kisses him on the cheek. "Welcome back to the world of the beautiful people, hot stuff."

Tony barely hears her as he continues to read through the article. "'Undeniable proof as a witness hears the mysterious young man call Tony 'pops'?! Oh, come on!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading guys! :D


	11. Observatory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy waves him off again and shakes her head. "Like I said, it's not you. I'm just trying to wrap my head around the fact that you're the same age as my kid brother but you're also old enough to be my grandfather. That's what I'm freaking out about right now; the timeline is screwing with my head."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Darcy and Jane's stories were both a little too short to stand on their own so I ended up combining them in the end. I've never been to Kitt Peak (which is more or less where this chapter is based around) but I've been to the McDonald Observatory in west Texas so I'm basing some of the scenery around that. Hope you all enjoy it! :D

"This is just weird…" Darcy mutters, cutting a glance across the car to Steve sitting in the passenger seat.

Steve, who'd been overly engrossed in watching the rocky terrain of the Arizona landscape pass by outside the window, blinks in surprise and looks over. "What?"

"This," Darcy says, indicating with her hands at Steve (or maybe it was the car in general, he really wasn't sure). "You. Everything. It's all just super weird."

Steve is still confused because Darcy's explanation of what exactly was weird about the situation left a lot to be desired. She'd been fine when they were driving into town earlier that morning, chattering away in a rapid-fire, hyperactive way that would challenge even Tony's verbal skills. She'd been fine when they were loading up the grocery cart with food and other supplies to go back out to the observatory. She'd been fine when she insisted they stop at men's clothing outlet because 'seriously, Steve, blue plaid is not your color'. Now they were back in the car driving back out to the observatory and suddenly it was weird between them.

"Uh, I can get out and walk if I'm making you uncomfortable," Steve offers lightly because he honestly doesn't know what he's said or done to suddenly make Darcy so upset.

"Oh, shut up, Steve," Darcy says flippantly with a wave of her hand, no real malice in her voice other than very slight annoyance. "It's not you. Okay, well it is you sort of." She sighs heavily, drumming her nails on the steering wheel. "It's just weird being here with you right now. I mean, like, you're you." She indicates him with one hand like that one gesture explains everything. "A living legend. A war hero. A super soldier celebrity sitting across from me in a polo shirt and khakis. Honestly? I'm feeling a little bit star struck right now."

Steve gives her a small, embarrassed smile and shakes his head. "I'm certainly not a celebrity."

"Yeah, dude, you kinda are," Darcy shoots back, glancing back over at him. "I read comic books about you growing up. If that's not celebrity status then I don't know what is." She's silent for a few seconds longer before continuing. "I mean, it was surreal this morning; driving into town with Captain America sitting in the car with me but I guess my brain hadn't fully grasped the concept until about thirty minutes ago. And then it was like *bam!*," Darcy smacks her hand against the steering wheel for emphasis. "Weird factor on overdrive."

Steve shifts a bit in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable himself. "Look, I'm really sorry if I've made this awkward for you-"

Darcy waves him off again and shakes her head. "Like I said, it's not you. I'm just trying to wrap my head around the fact that you're the same age as my kid brother but you're also old enough to be my grandfather. That's what I'm freaking out about right now; the timeline is screwing with my head."

Unlike most of the others, no one had to tell Darcy that Steve was still considered a minor; she'd figure that out all on her own. It made sense though; anyone who worked with Jane Foster had to be worth their merit and Darcy was sharp as a tack when it came to keeping up with her. It took her all of five seconds to guess Steve's real age without any prompting and she had kept it mostly to herself until now.

"Like, I feel like if I focused on it for more than about five minutes at a time, my head would explode," she continues, gesturing wildly with her hands. "Straight up supernova in my frontal cortex." She makes an explosion sound with her mouth and a starburst with one hand. "Like Hiroshima." Her eyes widen suddenly and she looks over at Steve. "Oh shit, I'm sorry."

Steve chuckles softly and shakes his head. "It's fine. That was after my time anyway. I think I'd been in the ice for about two years by then."

Darcy is silent for another second before she looks over and grins. "Man, my great grandfather must be spinning in his grave right now."

"Why's that?"

Darcy smiles and turns her attention back to the road. "He used to talk about you all the time when I was a kid. He told me all about how you broke him out of this crazy prison during the war, storming in there like superman with nothing more than a shield and balls the size of Connecticut."

Steve thinks for a second, allowing his mind to drift back over time, far from 2013 and back to 1943. He remembers the prison cell, the one holding all the men that Hydra had captured. He remembers breaking them out, urging them toward the nearest door. He remembers rushing off to find Bucky. A lot after that is a blur of fire and smoke but he remembers joining the freed men outside the prison, absently doing a headcount even though he has no idea how many he was actually counting for. He remembers talking to them as they walked back to the camp, learning names and face and stories.

One young man stuck out in his mind, tall and lithe and only a few years older than him. Dark hair, sharp, dark eyes and a defiant set to his jaw that made it clear he was in for the long haul. The young man was a sharpshooter, not necessarily a sniper but he was one hell of a shot. He'd once told Steve that he could hit a target with one eye closed at 1,500 yards and had the shot to prove it. The only reason he hadn't become part of the Howling Commandos was that he got snatched up for another unit first.

"You probably don't remember him," Darcy continues, watching the road ahead of them absently. "He said it all happened so fast and he was only in that camp for about a week after that so you may not have even met him-"

"No, I remember him," Steve says after a second, his voice soft and far away. "Harold. Harold Lewis."

Darcy looks over at him, a mixture of shock and awe coloring her expression. "Yeah…" she says with a surprised little smile. "Yeah, that was my great grandfather."

Steve smiles and nods. "I remember him. He was one of the best marksmen I'd ever met."

Darcy grins and nods her head once in agreement, looking back toward the road. "Yep, he told me he'd competed in a few competitions before he enlisted. Won a few medals here and there. I actually have a few of them back home in my closet."

Steve smiles fondly at that. "He told me that's how he kept bread on the table back then; won some competitions and got a few cash prizes out of it. He was a good man."

Darcy smiles softly. "Yeah, he was. He died when I was about seven but I never forgot his war stories; weird as it was, they were kinda my favorite to fall asleep to." She hesitates for a second before adding, "He was the actually the one who got me hooked on the Captain America comics when I was a kid. He told me you were a real life superhero."

Steve blushes and fidgets with the hem of his shirt. "I don't know about that…"

Darcy rolls her eyes and smiles. "Well, you were to him. And that's all that mattered in the end."

The conversation dies off quietly as Darcy turns off the main road to begin the winding climb up the mountain to the observatory. It takes more concentration than the straight, flat roads they had been traveling on earlier and both are now completely invested in watching the road as the car ambles along.

The road climbs and twists along, hairpin curves and sharp bends around each corner they pass. The afternoon is clear and bright, blue skies for miles that seems to get closer the higher they climb. It takes nearly thirty minutes before the reach the top, the white dome of the observatory coming into view long before they get there. It's isolated, far away from the bright lights and pollution of the city, and it's quiet, a welcome change from the constant noise and distraction back in New York.

When Jane had invited them to come out to the observatory for a few days, they had all jumped at the chance to get away from the city for a while. Thor, obviously, because he wanted to see Jane; Tony and Bruce because Jane Foster was something of a celebrity in the physics world and they were both dying for a chance to speak with her; Clint and Natasha because they had just gotten back from a mission and had nothing better to do; and Steve...well, Steve just wanted some peace and quiet for a change. Since he'd been unfrozen, one of the things Steve missed most about the 1940s was how much quieter it was. There weren't as many cars, people shouting obscenities in the streets, those smartphone things that Tony kept trying to push him to get. Everything had been quieter.

The car finally rolls to a stop in the employee parking lot and Darcy hops out, popping the trunk as she does. Steve is just closing his door when Thor comes up up from behind, a large, warm grin plastered on his face. Steve finds himself smiling as well; being around Jane definitely brought out the best in their resident thunder god.

"Welcome back," the bigger man booms, clapping Steve on the shoulder with enough force to knock down a smaller man. "I trust your journey was successful?"

"You bet, big guy!" Darcy calls from the back end of the car, holding up a plastic grocery bag in one hand. "We return bearing gifts of coffee and Pop Tarts. They're peanut butter this time, new flavor or something," Darcy says with a shrug as she hands the bag to Thor. "And since you go through them like a fiend, you get to be the guinea pig and tell us if they're any good."

"A marvelous bounty, indeed," Thor laughs, taking the bag from Darcy and slipping the plastic handles over his wrist. He reaches into the trunk and grabs about eight more, stepping back from the trunk as Steve steps forward to grab the rest.

Darcy watches in quiet amazement and chuckles when they clean out the trunk of all groceries in just a few seconds. "Wow, I should get you guys to help me unload the car more often. It usually takes me three times as long to get everything inside."

The three of them make their way back inside, depositing the bags in the kitchen on their way. Jane and her team had been here for a little over two weeks studying the far reaches of some distant galaxy that was labeled with a combination of letters and numbers Steve didn't understand. Apparently it was a huge discovery, something that would take the physics world by storm once all the data had been collected, but Steve had no problem admitting he didn't understand any of it. Jane had tried to explain it to him (he preferred her explanation over Tony's) but none of it really registered; he was still a little mind-boggled that they were all essentially living inside of a giant telescope that could see several light years into space. If the complexities of the galaxy went over his head, he didn't really count that as a loss.

From the way she spoke, it sounded like Jane and Darcy and everyone else they worked with would be here for several more weeks studying this new galaxy. They had made their temporary home at the observatory and planned to stay there until they gathered the information they needed. It was a slow and arduous process, one that usually took hours, if not days at a time. Jane had told him with a smile on his first day here that she hoped he had brought a book because a good majority of being an astrophysicist was a lot of sitting and waiting.

Between he, Darcy, and Thor they manage to get the bags unloaded and everything put away in just a few minutes. The observatory took care of most of the essentials but personal products had to be purchased separately. Things like favorites foods, preferred hair care products, books/magazines/etc came at the employee's own expense.

They didn't see Jane when they came inside but that meant she was probably holed away in one of the labs of the observatory gathering data. And if that was the case, Bruce and Tony would more than likely not be too far behind. It was funny in a way; Steve had never seen the two of them as excited as when they had all decided to come down to the observatory. It was like watching two kids wake up on Christmas morning; they were both literally bouncing with energy by the time they got here. Ever since then, it had been one question after another directed at Jane, excited theories regarding the new galaxy, followed by even more questions. Poor Jane had barely been able to get a word in edgewise for almost two full days.

That left he, Darcy, and Thor to their own devices for another few hours until Jane and Bruce and Tony emerged from the lab. Clint and Natasha had left the day before for some S.H.I.E.L.D-related business and more than likely wouldn't be back by the time they all left. The rest of their party was set to leave at the end of the week but it somehow seemed too soon. This had been something of a mini vacation for all of them and going back home wasn't as welcome an idea as leaving was.

Realizing they were on their own for a few more hours and with little knowledge of the layout of the observatory, Steve and Thor yield themselves to following Darcy through the winding, labyrinthine halls of the compound. She'd been here long enough to find the nooks and crannies of where they were allowed to go and proceeded to lead them to an employee lounge at the end of one of the halls.

It's a little over two hours later, just after 7pm, when the others finally emerge. Jane pokes her head into the lounge to find Darcy sandwiched in between Steve and Thor and the opening scenes of The Dark Knight Rises playing across the TV on the wall (Darcy assured them they didn't need to see the first two in order to understand what was going on; all they needed to know was that Batman was the good guy). Jane smiles when they finally notice her, Bruce and Tony appearing behind her shoulder in the hallway. They look slightly more triumphant than they did that morning when Steve and Darcy left for town so it's counted as a victory. She tells them that they're heading down toward the kitchen for dinner and the invitation is open for them to come along.

Thor steps forward first, large arms wrapping around Jane's tiny frame and bundling her away like a puppy. Steve and Darcy follow along after them, her hand latching onto the hem of his shirt and dragging him along with her as she launches into an impressive string of questions directed at the two older Avengers. The entire time they're walking, her hand never loosens from Steve's shirt. Since they'd been here, she had more or less latched herself onto Steve because he was closest to her age; granted, she was still older than him but he was easier to talk to than many of the scientists that roamed around the observatory. Steve doesn't mind; he likes Darcy and he finds her easier to talk to than the scientists as well.

Dinner serves as a welcome break for all of them but as soon as it's over, they scatter to the winds again. Jane disappears off to one of the labs for a few last minute calculations, Bruce and Tony in tow. Left alone again, Darcy motions for Steve and Thor to follow her outside to one of the observation decks. There are rows of smaller telescopes set up along the edges of the deck, not the high optical and radio telescopes like the ones inside but smaller ones that are used to locate celestial objects that actually fall within this galaxy. It's a full moon tonight and Darcy tells them that there's a distinct possibility they'll be able to see a few planets as well.

Darcy is in the middle of explaining the different types of supernovae to Thor when Steve slips away. He'd been eyeing the shadows and illumination of the moonlight against the white domes of the observatory for about twenty minutes and had the sudden urge to find his sketchbook.

He slips off to the room he'd been staying in to grab the book and makes his way back to the observation deck. He can still see Thor and Darcy standing near the telescopes but the angle isn't quite right and he walks around the expanse of the deck until he can get a good view of the domes. Finding a decent place, he sits down with his back against the wall and begins sketching.

He's so involved in capturing the different saturations of shadow that he doesn't hear Jane come up until she's standing right behind him. "Wow," she says, leaning over his shoulder to look at the sketch. "Not too bad, Michelangelo. I think you could give Starry Night a run for its money."

Steve smiles and shakes his head. "Nah, that's a classic. This is just for fun."

Jane returns the smile and slides down the wall to sit next to him, looking up at the wide expanse of sky overhead.

"Tired of being inside?" Steve asks lightly, glancing over at her from his book.

Jane nods and reaches into one of the pockets of her jacket, pulling out a bundle of yarn and two knitting needles. "Yeah, it gets claustrophobic in there after a while. I've been hunched over computer monitors and physics diagrams all day. Sometimes it's nice to just come out here and sit beneath all the stars I've been studying."

"That's understandable," Steve says with a nod, setting his pencil aside and looking up at the sky as well.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Jane asks quietly, her head tilted up in the same direction. Steve nods silently in agreement. "I've been all over the world looking at this sky and it never ceases to amaze me." She turns to look at him then, her face illuminated in the moonlight. "Did you ever look at the stars like this when you were a kid?"

Steve thinks for a minute because he honestly can't remember seeing the stars clearly until he joined the army and was camped out in the forests of Germany. "Not really," he says after a second with some regret. "I grew up in the city and you couldn't really see the stars from where we lived; it was always too bright to see more than a few of them at a time." Steve picks up his pencil again, shading one dome lightly. "I don't think I saw a full night sky until the war."

Jane continues to watch him with her intelligent, dark eyes; the same eyes he sees in Tony and Bruce. "You were just a kid when you enlisted, weren't you?" At Steve's nod she continues. "You must have been terrified."

Steve is silent for a second before answering. "I was," he tells her quietly. "But I knew I couldn't stay behind either. It was one of the scariest things I've ever done, going into war like that. But I don't regret it. Fighting that war made something like this possible, right?"

Jane smiles and nods, looking up at the sky for a few more seconds before turning her attention back down to the ball of yarn in her lap. When she notices Steve looking as well, she smiles sheepishly and shrugs one shoulder. "Knitting," she says simply, taking the needles in her hands and working through the yarn slowly. "I taught myself how to do it a few years ago to pass the time. Like I said, there's a lot of sitting and waiting involved in this line of work."

Steve watches her hands move silently for a few seconds, twisting and weaving the yarn into delicate patterns. It's dark blue with flecks of steel grey and creamy white woven into the yarn itself. It takes Steve a minute to realize she's knitting a scarf.

"I made a hat for Darcy when she first started working with me," Jane continues, her hands moving deftly and without much thought when it comes to the intricacies of the pattern. "I made one for Thor too when he first arrived." She smiles fondly at the memory. "I don't think he really knew what it was; he kept it in his pocket the entire time he was here though, he never let it out of his sight." The needles pause in her hands and a slightly wistful expression crosses her features. "You know, I've spent nearly my whole life watching the stars and I never once thought that I would find someone like him."

Steve smiles and looks up at her from his sketchbook. "You bring out the best in him, Jane. I don't think I've ever seen him happier than when he's here with you."

Jane smiles and blushes softly in the silvery glow of the moonlight. For a moment, she's no longer Jane Foster, world renowned astrophysicist, she's simply Jane Foster, a woman in love. She looks over at him, the smile still on her face and her needles moving one again. "Do you have anyone special back home, Steve?"

Steve's hand freezes mid-sketch and his breath catches just the slightest bit. Thinking of Peggy's death was still a sore subject but the pain of her loss was fading gradually with the hands of time. It feels like his whole life has been a pawn in the hands of time. "I did," he tells her, smiling softly as he speaks.

Jane's eyes widen slightly and she frowns. "Oh God, Steve, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"No, no, it's fine," Steve assures her quickly. "It's okay, really. I promise."

Jane doesn't quite seem convinced but she lets the subject go with a small smile. Her hands begin moving with the needles again, her eyes focused slightly up at the starry sky.

"You're really good at that," Steve comments after a second, still watching her hands move with precision along the lines of yarn.

Jane blinks and looks down, seeming to suddenly notice the scarf in her lap, and laughs lightly. "Thanks, I've gotten better at it over the years. The first scarf I knitted looked like it had been sent through a garbage disposal by the time I was done with it. I actually started working with more complex patterns a few months ago and learned how to make things like socks and mittens. I asked Bruce and Tony if they wanted a pair and they said no."

Steve smiles and picks up his pencil again, shading softly. "I wouldn't take it personally; they're both more hands-on kind of guys and having something covering their hands is distracting. I know; I've seen Tony solder his suits without gloves before."

Jane smiles and finishes the last row of her scarf, tying the loose ends off tightly and taking it off the needles. The scarf is long, still doubled in her lap as she holds it up to inspect it. Satisfied with her work, she turns and loops the scarf loosely around Steve's neck, looking at it appraisingly. The confused look must show through a bit more than Steve imagines because Jane simply smiles and shrugs nonchalantly. "Consider it a 'thank you for helping to save New York' gift," she tells him as he wordlessly runs his fingers along the smooth knit pattern of the scarf. "I started making it yesterday so you really didn't have a choice in the matter; you were getting this scarf whether you wanted it or not."

Steve smiles, the woven thread soft and warm between his fingers. It had been a long time since anyone had made anything like this for him; the nearest he could think of was the pair of wool socks their neighbor had given his mother when he was six. It had been a gift in exchange for some hemming his mother had done and Steve had worn those socks until their were more holes than fabric left in them. "It's perfect, Jane. Thank you."

The brilliant grin Jane gives him is worth every word. "Anytime, Steve."

No sooner had she spoken did Thor appear on the observation deck, Darcy right behind him. They both came forward and took a seat against the wall beside Jane and Steve, heads tilted upwards as well. Jane took that opportunity to curl against Thor's side, the god's massive arm wrapping around her gently and pulling her close. Darcy leans back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of her, and begins pointing out different constellations and celestial objects to Steve as he finishes the last touches on his sketch.

About fifteen minutes later, Bruce and Tony appear on the deck as well, finding the rest of their party and joining them against the wall. Tony takes a seat on Steve's other side while Bruce remains standing, watching the night sky quietly behind the lenses on his glasses. For a moment, none of them speak, they all just look up and watch the stars.

It's quiet and still, the stars glittering above them like a velvety blanket laden with diamonds. They're far removed from the lights and noise and distraction of the city; the confusion, the change, the turmoil. For a moment, sitting beneath the endless sky and the shimmering stars, the night seems timeless. His hands still carefully brushing over the woven pattern of the scarf, Steve closes his eyes and just enjoys the silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading guys! :D


	12. Mjolnir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You wielded Mjolnir," Thor says simply. It's not a question, it's a statement of fact and Steve can't deny it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say that I'm completely hooked on the idea of Steve being worthy enough to wield Mjolnir? It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside! XD Hope you guys like it!

"To your left, Captain!"

Steve hears Thor's warning and manages to roll to the side at the last possible second, just avoiding being crushed by a half-ton metal fist swinging toward him like a titanium meteor. He's up on his feet again, dodging an avalanche of concrete as the side of a building collapses beside him. He skips over a few tumbling chunks of rubble and rebar, coming to a stop beside the thunder god and resuming the battle where he'd left it.

Steve resists the urge to sigh as the metal giant takes another swipe at them. He was getting tired, not because of the battle itself but because this was the third one he'd been in this week. S.H.I.E.L.D had developed a new training program and was using it to test the Avengers for every possible scenario. Rampaging mutants? Done it. Atomic fallout? Check. Weather control device that created fire tornadoes and blizzard hurricanes? That was Tuesday. It was all in an effort to prepare them for anything, man-made/natural disaster and other. Each simulation was staggeringly real down to the collapsing buildings, flipped cars, and panicked and injured civilians. This difference was, however, that the Avengers were the only actual living bodies within the simulation.

For as real as they felt, each simulation was completely fake. Tony had tried to explain it once but it had gone completely over Steve's head. He called it virtual reality, a world that wasn't a world but acted like one all the same. The threats were real, the destruction was real, the civilians were real, but at the same time none of it was real. It all came down to that fancy little electrode they pressed against Steve's temple before he went into the room. It allowed him to see and feel and experience everything inside the virtual world. That included the bone-deep bruises of being thrown into a school bus back-first and the shredding sensation of catching his leg on a piece of jagged metal as he ran. The simulation wouldn't kill them, there were failsafes upon failsafes built into the program to prevent that from happening. But it could and would do everything in its power to make the scenario as real as possible, including the injuries. They needed to be prepared for everything and being injured in battle was included in those possibilities.

Today they're facing off against four giant robots that are hell bent on destroying a replica of 5th Avenue. There's a burning car crashed into the side of a building, pedestrians are fleeing in terror as one of the giants stomps after them down the street, and there's a tiny dog yapping insistently in the backseat of a car. Steve has to remind himself once again that none of this is real because it's damn hard to believe when the screams of terror sound that genuine. Just like everything else in the simulation, the terrorized citizens are nothing more than a clever hologram. 'Adding in real world situations without the real world consequences' one of the S.H.I.E.L.D personnel had told him after their first simulation as a team. If little Suzi with the broken leg or the mailman trapped in his burning truck died in the simulation, they would simply regenerate in the next one. Same characters, different simulation and different fate every time. The ultimate goal was to prevent the death of any civilians in the simulation. Their track record wasn't exactly stellar at this point in time…

Steve doesn't have time to think about that at the moment as he dodges another blow from their metallic nemesis. Steve had guessed pretty quickly why this simulation was assigned to just him and Thor alone. Their enemy was not organic so it couldn't be taken down with lightning and it was much more durable than a few blows with Steve's shield. It was designed to force them into strategy, all of the partners exercises had been so far. Tony and Hulk had faced off against shadow creatures earlier that morning, something Tony couldn't shoot with his repulsors and Hulk couldn't smash into tiny pieces. Clint and Natasha had done one last night that involved figuring out a way to close a rip in the time stream that was allowing velociraptors to roam the city streets like it was an all you can eat buffet. Each simulation required a different approach and different plan of attack. Steve is still working on figuring theirs out right now.

Thor throws Mjolnir just as Steve throws his shield and there's a high arch from both of them as they swing in the direction of the nearest metal giant. The clang of impacted metal is loud and jarring, echoing through the streets and strong enough to cause Steve's teeth to vibrate together. The giant staggers slightly, the front of its head caved in from the impact, and then all at once it drops to its jointed knees and collapses.

Steve retrieves his shield from where it landed and Thor catches Mjolnir as it flutters back through the air and returns to his hand. The giant is still twitching slightly, metal fingers curling and uncurling spasmodically as the gears and wires inside begin to short circuit. The head is nearly completely concave, the front pushed to the back from the indention of Mjolnir. Steve's shield had struck the joint connecting the head to the body, lodging in the groove of metal enough to disjoint the head to one side. Together it would have been a killing blow for almost anything; shame it took them so long to figure it out.

"Headshot," Steve mutters quietly as he nudges the downed giant with one foot. It was what Tony and Clint always screamed at him when they forced him to play those zombie video games. Steve never understood the purpose behind the games but that didn't stop Tony and Clint from parking him on the couch and dropping a controller in his hands because 'seriously Steve? What self-respecting teenager doesn't play video games?!' He was grateful for the reference now.

"Aim for the head," Steve tells Thor just as one of the other giants lumbers into view. The thunder god nods once in understanding and they step forward in unison to meet the monstrosity. They're almost in front of it now, Mjolnir swinging in a blurred circle at Thor's side and Steve's shield arched back, ready to the throw, when there's an explosion of metal and concrete from one side. It had been a trap, an ambush, the giants were waiting for them. Clever.

Steve manages to avoid the car that sails past them but Thor isn't quite so lucky. The fender catches his shoulder, knocking him off balance just enough for one of the giants to swat him out of the way like an annoying housefly. The thunder god flies through the air, crashing into the side of a building and bringing a shower of rubble down on top of him.

"Thor!" Steve calls out to his fallen teammate but he doesn't have time to wait for a response as he dodges another blow. Each metal hand is the side of a Cadillac and just as heavy and they're making deliberate swipes at Steve with the intent on catching him and finding out just how much pressure it takes to squeeze him into patriotic jelly.

He rolls off the hood of a car and lands on his knees a few feet away from the crumbled remains of the building Thor just went through. He knows the god isn't dead, dazed or possibly unconscious but definitely not dead; the simulation would make sure of that. But it also meant that Steve was on his own until Thor re-joined the battle and that meant a combination of dodging and avoiding until he could come up with a better plan.

Fortunately, 'a better plan' happened to find him first in the form of Mjolnir. The force of the blow had been enough to knock the hammer from Thor's hand and it had landed with a heavy, immovable thud beside the car Steve just rolled off of. Steve knows it's a long shot, he's seen the kind of strength and power Thor used in order to wield the weapon, but he also knows he doesn't have many other options at this point. If this will keep them both alive and well, he hopes Thor will forgive him for using his weapon.

Steve gets to his feet just as another metal hand knocks him backwards a few feet. He rolls off the impact and jumps to his feet again and then he's running toward the hammer. The hand is coming down again, grabbing at him with long metallic fingers, but Steve doesn't slow down. He reaches out, grabs the handle of Mjolnir, and keeps going. The hammer is heavy and bulky at first, bouncing against his leg painfully as he runs, but it grows lighter with every step until it feels no more different than the weight of his shield. Huh, odd.

The hand comes down again and this time Steve lets it catch him, strong fingers squeezing hard enough to make him gasp in pain. The giant brings him up to eye level, emotionless face watching him carefully, and Steve makes his move. He twists out of the giant's grip, running up the length of its arm and leaping toward the head. Gripping the handle with both hands, Steve raises Mjolnir high above his head and brings it down with crushing force on top of the giant's metal skull. The metal collapses like aluminum and the body goes down with it, knees buckling and dropping both the giant and Steve to the ground. Steve rolls out of its hand and is already making his way back across the street by the time the giant hits the pavement and lays motionless.

There's a shuffle of movement from the rubble Thor is buried under and Steve knows the god is trying to dig his way out. Steve runs toward the building to help him but a metal foot blocks his path as one of the other giants appears above him. It raises its foot to kick him out of the way like a star-spangled soccer ball but Steve doesn't give it the chance. Mjolnir swings up and smacks the foot out of the way with a damaging blow. The giant staggers slightly and Steve crushes the other foot before it has a chance to correct itself. The giant topples backwards, taking out street lights and billboards as it falls, landing with a heavy, earth-shaking thud in the middle of the street. Steve is on top of it a moment later, running across the smooth metal plating of the chest and sliding off gracefully to smash the metal skull in with a punishing blow from the hammer. The giant twitches once and goes still, sparks and smoke drifting out of the split metal.

"Captain?" Thor's voice comes from behind him and Steve turns to see the thunder god standing among the rubble of the building. He's dusty and a bit bloody in some places but looks none the worse for wear. The expression on his face is a bit unnerving though. He's looking at Steve carefully, a mixture of confusion, surprise, awe, and a few other emotions Steve can't identify. They don't exactly have the time to talk about it either as the last giant stomps its way down the street.

Steve runs back across the street to Thor's side, passing Mjolnir to him with one hand while gripping his shield with the other. "Here you go, big guy," Steve says, giving Thor a slightly apologetic smile as the thunder god takes the weapon without a word. "I didn't want anything to happen to it and it helped keep the giants away from us for a bit."

Thor doesn't say anything, he just continues to look from the mythic hammer in his hand to the younger man standing beside him in muted bewilderment. Steve wants to question the matter further but the last giant decides to make its presence known just then and he doesn't have a chance to. Gripping his shield tightly, Steve looks back at the thunder god. "Last one, Thor. You ready?"

The perplexed look fades from Thor's face and he sets his jaw in a hard line. "Ready," he rumbles quietly, stormy eyes fixed on the approaching giant. There's no spoken plan between them but both of them attack in unison as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Thor goes high while Steve goes low, a combined attack that has the giant struggling to stay upright. Using the weight and leverage of his shield, Steve manages to cut the giant's feet out from under it just as Mjolnir dislodges the head with a mighty swing, the metal piece flying through the air and bouncing heavily on the street.

The giant falls to a smoldering heap on the ground and Thor lands beside it, eyeing the metal body with barely contained disdain. Steve is looking at it as well but all he feels is relief that it's over. Thor is turning to him then and Steve's relief is replaced by a twist of apprehension. The god's eyes are stormy and turbulent, churning clouds before a maelstrom, and his gaze is fixed on Steve.

It's funny how taking down a legion of city-destroying robots is barely a blip on the radar for Steve but having their resident thunder god staring him down like an alien life form is enough to make him squirm and shift uncomfortably on the balls of his feet.

"You wielded Mjolnir," Thor says simply. It's not a question, it's a statement of fact and Steve can't deny it.

The younger man feels his face flush with embarrassment and pulls the cowl away from his face awkwardly. His hair, damp with sweat, falls across his forehead, and he swipes at it unconsciously. "Yeah," he says finally, shifting uncomfortably beneath the god's stare. "I'm sorry about that. If there had been another way I wouldn't have used it but-"

"You wielded Mjolnir," Thor says again but this time his voice isn't quite as hard and his eyes aren't quite as dark. The way he says it is mixed with surprise and a bit of confusion, the same as the expression he'd had on his face when he'd first seen Steve with the hammer. He's not angry, he's stunned.

Steve shifts again, suddenly feeling very self-conscious from the intensity of the god's stare. "Well yeah, but I mean-"

Thor doesn't let him finish, he simply walks over and hands the hammer to Steve without a word. The younger man is surprised and hesitates to take the offered weapon. "Thor-"

"Take it," Thor tells him gently, his voice encouraging more than deterring.

Steve looks at him and then down at the hammer in his hand. It doesn't seem like a trick and Thor doesn't appear angry in his offer so Steve hesitantly reached out and grasps the handle that's being presented to him. Thor releases the hammer and it stays in Steve's hand, the weight of the fall causing his shoulder to bounce slightly as it drops to his side but otherwise leaving him unaffected.

Thor's eyes widen in surprise and he looks at Steve with something comparable to amazement. "By Odin's beard," he whispers almost to himself, watching as the younger man holds the weapon in one hand similar to the way he holds his shield.

Steve doesn't understand the significance behind the exchange and looks down at the weapon in his hand curiously. It's bulky and heavy but it doesn't seem too out of the ordinary; it looks exactly the same as all the other times Steve had seen Thor use it in battle. But something about this is different, something about him holding it is different, and Steve suddenly comes to the realization that he's never seen any of the other Avengers wield the weapon in the heat of battle like he just did. In fact, he distinctly remembers Hulk trying to pick up the hammer during one of their fights and being unable to lift it. If Hulk couldn't lift it, then there was definitely no way he should be able to lift it, right? It's a startling realization even by his standards and Steve utters the only thing he can think of to say in the moment. "Uhh…"

Thor beams brightly at him, his grin wide and happy, and he takes the hammer from Steve carefully. "You've more virtue and merit than you are aware of, Captain," Thor tells him with another grin. "Only a fair few are worthy enough to wield Mjolnir and I have never seen it done on Midgard. Truly we were meant to be shield-brothers in battle!"

Steve doesn't have a chance to say anything as Thor captures him in a tight embrace. He lets out a startled "oomph" as the god's large arms wrap around him. It's useless to try to break free, Steve has firsthand experience with the intensity of Thor's group hugs and he knows the god will only let go when he's good and ready.

That moment comes sooner than Steve thinks and Thor releases him from the embrace, his hands lingering on the younger man's shoulders. He's looking at him with a mix of barely contained excitement and something akin to pride. It's warm and accepting, full of satisfaction and brotherly affection, and Steve remembers seeing that same look in Bucky's eyes a few times when they were kids.

Steve knows full well that Thor has almost completely adopted him under the category of surrogate little brother since the fall out with Loki. His brother's betrayal and consequent imprisonment had been a staggering blow for the thunder god and he had been reeling from the treachery for a long time now. His despair began to dissipate slowly the longer he spent on earth with Jane and the Avengers but it hadn't gone completely. He'd found some kind of solace in Steve though, a friend, a kindred spirit, a brother. They were both at a loss in this new world, Steve from his time in the ice and Thor from his time spent elsewhere in the universe, and both found it easier to relate to one another than anyone else. They fought together, understood each other, found comfort in the fact that neither of them felt alone anymore.

Thor saw Steve as an admirable warrior, brave and noble, and an adept leader for their team. That didn't stop him from big brothering the holy hell out of Steve on the battlefield. Once the bonds of friendship had been formed and solidified, Thor had apparently made it a point to keep a constant eye on Steve when they were in the middle of battle. He watched his back, protected him from injury, willingly threw himself in front of him to keep him safe. It almost seemed like Thor was attempting to make amends for failing Loki by investing himself in Steve. This hadn't escaped the younger man's notice and he had breached the subject multiple times only to be given a warm, companionable smile and a pat on the shoulder for his efforts. It was Thor's wordless way of telling him 'I'm doing this because I want to.'

Now it seems that the universe was cementing the bonds of friendship and brotherhood between them even more. Steve had proven himself worthy of wielding an Asgardian weapon, something few, if any, humans were able to do and Thor seems to think that's the greatest thing in all of the Nine Realms. Steve is still a bit confused by the whole process though. He doesn't know what makes one person worthy over another and he certainly doesn't feel that he's gained any kind of special qualifications that would set him apart from the rest of his team. He doesn't feel any more worthy or heroic or noble than anyone else; he's just _him_.

"Mjolnir recognizes purity of heart and a brave spirit," Thor tells him, seeming to realize the focus of the internal battle Steve is warring with himself. "It responds to selflessness and altruism, the qualities of a true warrior." Thor smiles warmly at him, clapping him on the shoulder affectionately. "It was not mistaken in its acceptance of you, Captain."

Steve wants to argue the point further and insist that he's no different than anyone else but he knows it's a moot point; Thor has unshakeable faith in what he's seen in Steve's ability to utilize Mjolnir and there's nothing in Midgard or Asgard that will change his mind on the matter. So rather than beat his head against the issue, Steve just lets out a self-conscious little huff and smiles back at the god.

Thor beams back at him and slings an arm around his shoulder, leading them both away from the metal wreckage of the giants behind them as the synthetic city begins to flicker around them signalling the end of the simulation. "Come my brother, let us forsake this virtual world in favor of our own."

Steve just smiles and allows the thunder god to lead him along, the arm across his shoulders fond and companionable. "Right behind you, big guy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading guys! :D


	13. Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you know what these are, Dr. Buchholz?" Tony asks simply, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. When Buchholz doesn't answer, he continues for him. "These are the documents that approved all of the experiments to be run on Steve the first time. In order to 'better understand the Serum', the government basically signed over the rights for him to be tortured."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for this story goes to sirithromeniel who brought up the issue of highly unethical testing that may have been done on Steve in the 1940s and I just kind of ran with it. Apologies if Fury comes across as a bit OOC, I hope it's not too bad! Enjoy guys! :D

The man in glasses sighs heavily and rubs his eyes, squeezing the bridge of his nose just slightly. "Director Fury," he begins, his voice layered with strained patience. "When I requested this meeting with you, I was under the impression that we would be alone to discuss matters in private." The man's eyes open and level a long-suffering semi-glare at the billionaire sitting across from him absently folding and unfolding a paperclip. "What is Mr. Stark doing in a closed door meeting?"

Fury glances at Tony and then back at the man on the other side of the table. He gives him a helpless shrug and what amounts to a half-smile. "Dr. Buchholz, I would invite you to remember that Mr. Stark built the Macht 1 Ironman suit in a cave in Afghanistan with little more than car parts and scrap metal. If he decides to be part of a meeting, there's very little these doors can do to stop him. Trust me, I've tried. And believe me when I tell you that you do not want him overriding your main computer system to get what he wants; it requires a helluva lot of cleanup and more hassle than it's worth."

The man, Buchholz, seems to grudgingly accept this answer before turning his attention to the man sitting on the other side of Tony. "And Mr. Banner is here because-?"

"Doctor," Bruce corrects quietly, meeting the other man's gaze. "Dr. Banner. I'm rather fond of that title, I'd like to keep it if it's all the same."

Buchholz looks like he wants to sigh again but he doesn't. Instead, he just rolls his shoulders back and settles with the correction. "Very well, _Dr_. Banner. The reason you've decided to join in this private meeting is because-?"

"Oh, he's with me," Tony speaks up from the other side, dropping his now completely straight paper clip onto the table and spinning it slightly with one finger.

"I gathered as much, Mr. Stark-"

"And we're both here," Tony continues, effectively cutting Buchholz off from whatever else he was about to say. Tony's eyes narrow slightly at the other man, his finger tapping down on top of the spinning paper clip and immediately stopping its rotation. "Because you tried to kidnap our super soldier."

"And as active guardians of said super soldier," Bruce chimes in, his dark eyes narrowing as well. "I'd say we have a right to be in this meeting. Wouldn't you?"

Buchholz says nothing to the accusation but the muscles in his jaw tighten minutely.

Fury watches the entire exchange silently, his eye traveling over the men sitting a few chairs down from him. He places a plain white folder on the table and opens it carefully, plucking a few black and white photos from inside. They're from one of the security cameras positioned outside of Stark Tower and they clearly show a few black suited men trying to manhandle Steve into the back of a car. The new few pictures show the crushed hood of the car, Mjolnir barely visible in the middle of the wreckage, and Thor looming above the black suited men like a muscle-bound mountain. Behind him, a few feet away, Natasha is standing beside Steve, her hand wrapped loosely around around his arm like she's ready to take off running and drag him with her at any given moment. The last picture was taken from a camera at the corner of the building and Clint can clearly be seen standing on top of a streetlight, his bow loaded and an explosive-tipped arrow aimed directly at the ruined car.

Fury wordlessly passes the photos toward Buchholz. "Attempted kidnapping is a pretty heavy offense, Dr. Buchholz," Fury begins quietly. "Lying about being affiliated with S.H.I.E.L.D is even worse." It's his turn to level a gaze at the man sitting across the table. From what he'd gathered following the incident, the men had approached Steve as he was walking up to the Tower, explaining that they were connected with S.H.I.E.L.D and that he was required to come with them. When Steve attempted to question the validity of the statement, the men had grabbed him and were going to do their level best to throw him in the car before Steve could react and start fighting back. A split second later, it was raining magical hammers and Avengers and the rest was in a series of black and white photos now scattered across the table. "Care to explain?"

Buchholz glances away from the photos only to meet the quiet, seething glares of Tony and Bruce. There's no way he can deny it, the photographs are evidence enough, but he can at least attempt to justify his actions. After all, they're for the greater good. "We've been attempting to get in touch with S.H.I.E.L.D since Captain America was recovered. My company has been working diligently to recreate the Serum for the past two decades with very little success. When we heard that Captain America had been found and that he was alive, well," Buchholz shrugs slightly, spreading his hands in a simple gesture. "What better template to work from than the original?"

"So you thought you'd just take him, then?" Tony asks simply, his voice laced with a cutting edge.

"Mr. Stark, I don't think you understand the complexity of this situation," Buchholz counters, glaring at the billionaire. "We've been working with the Serum for years, all with failed results. Captain America was the only one who was a success, the only one who accepted the Serum flawlessly. He is vital to our research, vital to a whole generation of new soldiers who could benefit from a perfected version of the Serum. We need him for the good of mankind, for our American soldiers going overseas to protect their country. Surely you can understand that."

Tony does understand that and what was worse, he knows Steve does too. That would have been all it took to convince him to go with the black suited men and their non-descript black Sedan. Tell Steve he's helping the general public and the big, naive Boy Scout would follow along like a star-spangled labrador. Jesus Christ.

"Just think of all the good it would do," Buchholz continues, knowing he's made a point. "Soldiers who are more resistant to injuries and damage. Soldiers who are faster, stronger, smarter; soldiers who can drive over an IED and still go home to their families with no lasting injuries. Captain America is the key to all of this, the Holy Grail to our research. What we could discover through him could change everything."

"'Discover through him'?" Tony resists the urge to roll his eyes. He suddenly knows why this guys irks him so much. It's not the fact that he tried to kidnap Steve (although that was enough to permanently engrave his name on Tony Stark's Eternal Shit List), it's the fact that he was exactly like the doctors and scientists that had experimented on Steve in the 1940s. He'd read through his father's files after Steve had taken the Serum. He'd read all about the "endurance tests" Steve had undergone so that the scientists could better understand the extent of the Serum. How long could he be submerged underwater before drowning? How much could he lift before being crushed? How long could he go without water before passing out from dehydration? It was sick and sadistic and it had all been done in the name of science. This man was no different.

"You've offered a lot of really nice scenarios that could come from working with Steve but I'd like to ask exactly what you plan on doing with him to accomplish this," Tony challenges, his eyes level with the man across the table. "Do you have a particular game plan in mind or is it more just 'poke-this-prod-that-let's-see-what-happens-when-we-do-this'?"

Buchholz has the decency to remain silent for an appropriate amount of time to give the illusion that he's actually considering his answer. It's all a ruse; Tony can see right through it. The man has an appalling poker face. He knows the answer before ever opening his mouth and Tony knows it as well. "We will do whatever is necessary in order to perfect and better understand the Serum," Buchholz tells him simply, spreading his hands just slightly in a plaintive gesture.

Tony nods slowly, his fingers drumming just slightly on the table top. "Yeah, that's what I thought you might say." He reaches below the table and pulls out a large, thick folder from the briefcase on the floor. He opens it nonchalantly and spreads it across the table in front of the other man. Layers of old, black and white, photocopied documents extend over the smooth surface, each one signed by several members of the government and various military branches. They're all from the 1940s and every single one of them pertains to Steve in some way.

"Do you know what these are, Dr. Buchholz?" Tony asks simply, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. When Buchholz doesn't answer, he continues for him. "These are the documents that approved all of the experiments to be run on Steve the first time. In order to 'better understand the Serum', the government basically signed over the rights for him to be tortured."

Tony reaches across the table and grabs a document at random. "Saturday, August 12th, 1943: Subject is stable and healing. Wounds left by .32 acp are almost completely healed with no apparent lingering damage. Wounds to extremities heal completely in approximately 2-3 hours depending on depth and cause. Wounds to chest and torso take longer to heal, between 6-8 hours, but the subject remained alert and conscious throughout healing process. Ether and morphine appear to have little to no effect on the subject's level of consciousness. Prognosis: Good"

Tony drops the document back onto the table and grabs another. "Wednesday, July 16th, 1943: Subject shows remarkable resilience to sulfur mustards and other forms of chemical warfare. Blisters began healing almost immediately. No lasting damage done to eyes or lungs. Subject lost consciousness briefly following exposure but later regained consciousness when moved to medical wing. Prognosis: Good."

Buchholz resists the urge to sigh. "Mr. Stark, I don't see what this has to do with-"

"Saturday, October 19th, 1943: Subject is stable and healing. Puncture wounds and concussive injuries sustained following simulated explosion have healed within 8-10 hours. Glass and metal shrapnel removed from subject's chest, torso, and extremities. Significant blood loss documented and transfusion needed. Subject lost consciousness for several hours following the explosion but later regained consciousness in medical wing. Prognosis: Good."

"Mr. Stark, this is completely unnecessary-"

Tony ignores him and picks up another document. "Monday, September 8th-Tuesday, September 17, 1943: Subject's immune system appears particularly resistant to transmittable diseases. Subject displays almost no symptoms of influenza or Yellow Fever following exposure. Subject does exhibit slight debilitation when exposed to Typhus. Taken to medical wing after experiencing delirium brought on by an acute fever. Full recovery estimated at about 12 hours. Prognosis: Good."

"Enough, Mr. Stark," Buchholz cuts him off with a glare. "You've made your point."

"Have I?" Tony asks, looking genuinely confused by the response. "If I've made my point then you should have a clear understanding as to why we're so wary to let you work with Steve. The last time a group of scientists managed to get their hands on him to 'better understand the Serum', Steve was used as their own personal guinea pig."

He gestures widely to the documents spread over the table. "Technically, these tests and experiments could be considered war crimes under the right context but since it was 'necessary' to understand the Serum, those terms were overlooked." Tony leans forward so he's looking directly at Buchholz. "Tell me, Doc, how exactly does your group of researchers plan to test Steve's resilience to the newer diseases and bio weapons of the 21st century? Things like Bird Flu? Anthrax? AIDS?"

"SARS, Sarin gas, nerve agents," Bruce ticks off a list on his fingers. "Hell, even the common cold. Are you just going to expose him to all of those and hope for the best?"

"The weapons haven't changed all that much in the past 70 years but I would imagine you would have to test things like explosive rounds and hollow point bullets on him, huh?" Tony asks, shrugging slightly as if it were no big deal. "You know, just to 'better understand the Serum'."

Buchholz gives a short, derisive laugh, a bitter smile pulling at his features. "Mr. Stark, you're speaking as though we enjoy doing these tests. We're not barbarians and we certainly don't consider Captain Rogers as an animal made exclusively for our experiments."

"But you will experiment on him," Tony says with absolutely certainty.

The other man sighs and adjusts the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. "Mr. Stark, you must understand that the tests run on Captain Rogers will only be absolutely necessary and done with the utmost care. He will be treated with dignity and respect and his contribution will be invaluable for the future of our American soldiers. And if I may point out, this isn't exactly your decision; the choice lies with Captain Rogers and-"

"Steve," Bruce says quietly, his dark eyes narrowing.

"Excuse me?" Buchholz frowns, glancing over at the other doctor sitting across from him.

"His name is Steve," Bruce continues, sitting just a tiny bit straighter and flexing his fingers absently, causing the joints to crack softly. "If you're going to talk about him, you're going to use his name. Understand?" There was a challenge behind Bruce's eyes, unnamed yet present nonetheless. It was dark and threatening, something held back with only the strictest control. Buchholz absently noted that Dr. Banner's nailbeds had taken on just a slightly greenish tint. It would be best not to press the matter further.

"Very well," Buchholz relents quietly. "I believe this decision lies with Steve and Steve alone; your concern is greatly appreciated and well noted. As I see it, not only would he be helping our armed forces but it is also Steve's responsibility as Captain America to consent to this research."

"His responsibility?!" Bruce growls incredulously, the green tint in his fingernails creeping its way up his finger and onto the backs of his hands.

"Well, if that's how you see it," Tony counters cooly, his dark eyes narrowed at the other man. "Then it's my responsibility to shove my foot up your-"

"Gentlemen," Fury's voice interrupts from the end of the table, immediately bringing the conversation to a halt. He had been so quiet throughout most of the meeting that the others seemed to have forgotten he was there at all. He stands slowly, straightening his coat briskly before turning his attention to Bruce and Tony. "Mr. Stark, Dr. Banner," he nods toward the door as he speaks. "If you'll excuse us."

Tony's eyes widen slightly as he glances between the indicated door and Buchholz sitting across from them, a rather smug expression on his face. "Fury, you can't seriously be considering-"

"That will be all, Mr. Stark," Fury cuts him off smoothly, his gaze landing directly on Tony. "And that's Director Fury to you." Satisfied that the correction has effectively shut Tony up for the moment, he nods back to the door again. "You two are dismissed."

Tony looks like he wants to protest some more and Bruce looks like he's ready to punch a hole through the nearest brick wall but neither of them say anything. Instead, they stand rigidly and silently, gathering the files and photos from the table top and shoving them back into the folder they came from. They turn abruptly, ignoring the smug satisfaction on Buchholz's face, and march toward the door. Just before they reach it, Fury catches Tony by the elbow.

"Believe me when I say I will keep Steve's best interest in mind," he says quietly, something undefined passing behind his expression. Tony sees it but can't discern what it is at that moment. Rather than focus on it, he jerks his elbow out of Fury's grasp and pushes toward the door, Bruce right on his heels. Fury waits until the door has closed behind them and their silhouettes disappear around the corner before turning his attention back to Buchholz.

The other man still looks pleased with himself and he stands as if to shake Fury's hand. "Director Fury, with your support and S.H.I.E.L.D's assistance our research can help pave the way for the future and save countless lives in the process. Captain America's contribution is vital to understanding the Serum and your approval would help to sway his decision."

"Sit down, Dr. Buchholz," Fury responds quietly, his voice level but his tone sharp. "You don't have my approval and you certainly don't have assistance from S.H.I.E.L.D."

Buchholz's eyes widen slightly, the satisfaction disappearing from his expression almost instantly. "Director Fury," he begins, his voice shaking slightly with barely controlled irritation. "Surely you of all people can understand the necessity of this-"

"What I understand, Dr. Buchholz," Fury says loudly, speaking over the stammering scientist. "Is that you tried to kidnap one of my agents. And not only that, you claimed to be affiliated with S.H.I.E.L.D in the process. Now, as I've mentioned, both of these are serious offenses, ones that could lead to substantial time in prison if I decided to see to it."

"But the research we're doing-" Buchholz tries to push into the conversation only to have Fury cut him off again.

"However," Fury continues, his glare effectively silencing Buchholz from continuing. "The fact that you've outright admitted that you and your scientists are planning to experiment on Captain Rogers is where I draw the line. You see, Steve Rogers is not only under my authority as an Avenger but he is also under my protection. The other Avengers do have a say in the decisions regarding his well-being but I maintain ultimate judicial power at this point in time. Which means that my word is law in everything regarding both Steve Rogers and Captain America until I deem otherwise. And as such, I can firmly and resolutely tell you that you will not get your hands on him or any of the Avengers unless you plan on that being the absolute last thing you ever do."

Buchholz opens his mouth like he wants to protest, closes it, and then opens it again but Fury continues on unimpeded. "So allow me to spell this out for you in clear, unquestionable terms. If you or your scientists come anywhere near Steve Rogers or Captain America, you will have to answer to me. You don't go near the Tower, you don't go near his apartment, you don't attempt to contact him or speak with him in any way."

Fury's eye narrows and his voice drops to a low, vibrating hum. "Because if you do, if you even just happen to bump into him on the street, I will shut down your entire facility before you can even blink. Your research will be erased, your data will be destroyed, and you won't even be able to find a job at Burger King because you and all of your employees will be blacklisted to the point of nonexistence. And that will be after your prison sentence." A grim, cold smile tugs at the corner of Fury's mouth and it's probably one of the most terrifying things Buchholz has ever seen. "If I ever see you again, and you better pray to whatever god you believe in that I don't, I will lock you away in a prison so dark and so remote that you won't even remember what the sun looks like. By the time you're released, you may not even remember your own name."

Buchholz swallows convulsively, his face drained of any color other than a slight flush against the hollows of his cheeks. Fury regards him quietly for a moment, his gaze never leaving the man's face. "Have I made myself clear?"

The other man nods minutely, the movement stiff and rigid like it hurts. Fury nods in approval and takes a step back. "Good." He nods toward the same door Tony and Bruce had existed from only a few minutes earlier. "Agent Hill will be waiting outside to escort you off the premises."

Taking the cue almost immediately, Buchholz gathers his things and stands quickly, making a beeline toward the indicated door. Fury doesn't move, he stands perfectly still with his hands clasped loosely behind his back, but his gaze follows every move Buchholz makes. The other man is almost to the door before he speaks again. "Dr. Buchholz," Fury says quietly, causing the other man to stop mid-step toward the door. "Thank you for the meeting."

Buchholz doesn't respond, he simply bolts out of the room the second he makes it to the door and disappears down the hall. The room is now silent and empty, as if the meeting had never taken place, and that's the way Fury prefers it. S.H.I.E.L.D's determination for discretion is prevalent in everything they do and Fury takes pride in their efficiency to do so. Buchholz better hope he's never brought back here or else that discretion will ensure that his very existence was questionable to begin with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading guys! :D


	14. Assignment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both hands are wrapped around his throat, fingers pressing down heavily on both the carotid and jugular. His thumbs are right above the hyoid bone, tendons and cartilage bending beneath the pressure. All it would take is just a little more, crush the trachea and snap his neck and the assignment would be complete. But he can't. He can't kill him. Why?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains spoilers regarding the identity of the Winter Soldier. If you have not read the comics/watched the cartoons and do not know his true identity, please turn back now!
> 
> For everyone else, please read and enjoy! This is probably going to be the last chapter for this story arc so I want to thank all of you for reading this story and sticking with me! You guys are amazing! :D

He opens his eyes to a unfamiliar ceiling in an empty room. For a moment he simply lays there and allows his eyes to adjust to the ceiling above, white and sterile like the room around him. It's the same as every time before; he awakens weaponless and alone, naked as a newborn and with his skin still clinging to the lingering chill of the chamber. The room is different than the last one he remembers but that isn't really a surprise; a new room for every new metal table beneath him is the same though, cold and impersonal, detached like he is. It mirrors the metal of his arm like a long-lost brother, a twin being reunited with its other half.

He looks at his arm with the same clinical detachment that he would view the table. His eyes traces over the seamless integration of muscle and metal, bionics mixed with biology. It's a wonder really, something to be marveled and revered. The nameless scientists and agents who tinker with the metallic joints look at it like the holy grail, something akin to awe in their expressions. He feels nothing.

He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the table, standing slowly and allowing his body to readjust to the feeling of gravity and weight after so long in stasis. How many years has it been now? He's not sure; time is irrelevant when it becomes disposable thanks to the wonders of cryogenics. The span of time between his last assignment and now could have been days or decades, he simply doesn't know.

Across the room, another table contains a neatly folded set of clothing and a plain white folder. He takes the folder without getting dressed, standing naked and unconcerned beside the table as he opens the folder. The assignment is in German and it takes him only a second to remember the proper syntax in order to translate the orders with expert precision. His mark is young, a child really, but the details of the assignment insist that he should be eliminated with extreme prejudice.

There is no preference of weapon indicated in the file which is an interesting turn of events. Usually his employers have a preferred method of killing that they would like to see enacted; some prefer the death to look like an accident, others a suicide, some want it to look like a robbery gone wrong. Everyone has a preference for how they want someone else to die but his file is blank in that regard. Interesting. He doesn't bother to question the orders laid out before him; a job is a job and those who have hired him have paid very handsomely indeed.

He takes the clothing and gets dressed mechanically, his movements methodical and measured. The joint connecting his arm to the rest of his body is stiff but he attributes it to the cold storage rather than corrosive damage. The team of nameless scientists will be in to collect him shortly to run diagnostics and recalibrations on the arm; he remembers that much at least.

True to form, a handleless door slides open with a hiss a few feet to his left and a white-suited doctor appears in the room, motioning for him to follow him. There's an interesting contrast between the two of them, the doctor with his pristine, white coat and him with his black clothing and dark hair. Light and dark, reflection and shadow. It's almost funny but he doesn't laugh. He doesn't feel anything.

**OOOOO**

He quickly discovers that he's being held in a facility just outside of Philadelphia. The facility is government funded and supported, a pharmaceutical lab used to run tests on new drugs and medications in the medical field. There's no reason for anyone to raise any questions with that kind of back story.

So America, then. Interesting. The last time he remembers being in America there was in a plaza in Dallas, Texas and a book depository. His employers had a scapegoat already in place, circumstantial evidence piled everywhere. The assassination would be pinned on him without question; a nation in mourning needed someone to blame quickly and he was the perfect tool for the job. Two shots, a blood spattered limousine, and his job was done. He didn't feel remorse for the killing although the target in question had seemed decent enough in his television appearances. Still, he wasn't hired for his sympathy; it was a job and he was simply a means to an end for a larger picture behind the shadowy curtain of the Cold War.

True, he had been called forward for other jobs since then but a good majority of them were in Europe, foreign dignitaries who had gotten just a little bit too close to something they shouldn't have. He didn't care about their reasons or their pleadings or their promises. He killed them without so much as a hesitation because that's what he had been hired to do. He was a machine, cold and emotionless and deadly. And he was the best at what he did.

He finds himself in another room of the facility and undergoes a full physical that extends through the rest of the day. The scientists that surround him on every side take great care to examine absolutely every inch of him and then some. It doesn't bother him; his body is nothing but a tool, just like the rest of him. The poking and prodding, the cutting and pulling, it's uncomfortable and tiresome but he remains perfectly still and impassive through the entire thing. Somewhere deep in his mind, he knows it should be painful, the things they're doing to him, but he doesn't feel it. He doesn't feel anything.

The reprogramming comes next, a process which takes much longer than the physical. Two entire days are spent introducing him to the new century, files and folders containing political figures, world events, and the current economic status are laid before him in successive order. He memorizes all of it down to the punctuation; he may not have a photographic memory but his retention has always been one of his best assets. Near perfect recall comes in handy with an occupation like his.

It's 2013, or so they tell him, and the world has turned into one large machine. Everything is run by technology now, computers and electronics have taken over the planet. The scientists don't explain it to him but he can understand it without their help; he's brilliant after all, that's another part of his job. Files are accessed and pulled up with the swipe of a finger, pictures and video footage appear on monitors smaller than a sheet of paper. They teach him how to use something called an Iphone and an Ipad which he picks up with impeccable ease (although he doesn't understand the need for both; they do exactly the same thing).

He learns about the presidents that have been in office since his last assignment and the major world events that took place during their terms. He learns about the War on Terror and the conflict in the Middle East. He learns about the economic Depression and the problems with health care. He learns about all of this in just a few hours and is completely caught up with the 21st century by noon. Then he begins learning about his target.

The file he had been given contained the bare minimum: name, age, description; nothing to base a profile off of. When he's mastered world history up to the present, only then is he given access to the rest of the information. This will be the more time consuming than the reprogramming and they all know it. He needs to learn absolutely everything about his target, from where he lives, his personal habits, even the kind of toothpaste he uses. It's all vital in understanding the man he's been hired to kill.

The scientists leave him alone in one of the rooms and run a continuous film reel across a projection screen. The footage is dated to a little over a year before he had been reawakened, the summer of 2012. If the country thought it had problems with its current state of affairs, they couldn't hold a candle to the problems it faced in the wake of an alien invasion. Inter-dimensional portals, hostile invaders, it was like something straight out of a science fiction novel. The news footage assures him it wasn't though.

His target is displayed prominently on the screen, one of six who helped prevent the destruction of New York. He's the leader, or at least he appears to be in the footage. Odd that the other five would follow the orders of such a young commander but he doesn't ask questions. He's not here for such trivial ponderings, he only needs tangible information.

He watches the footage several times, memorizing every attack and evasive maneuver the young man employs. He memorizes his battle plans, his commands, the way the others listen to him. It's remarkably successful and heroic and he does admit to a slight tug of mutual appreciation for a battle well fought. Most of his marks are not combat trained and die begging on their knees. This one might be different.

Another file is laid out before him containing every bit of information that could be gathered on the man in question. It's thick, filled with redacted and blacked out files from the archives of every major government agency in the country. Apparently this young man had been around much longer than he first realized. Born in Brooklyn in 1926, grew up in an orphanage after his mother died in 1933. A sickly child with an unremarkable childhood until he successfully joined the army after several failed attempts toward the end of 1942. Promoted to Captain, led several successful missions with an elite team known as the Howling Commandos. Personally took on a faction of Hydra while fighting in World War II. Reportedly killed in action after his plane went down in 1943. A short, violent, and tragic life; at least that's what the files maintained until the summer of 2011 when he was discovered frozen in the ice and successfully revived in an undisclosed location in New York City.

The similarities between their revivals was unusual but not uncommon; ice has the ability to preserve the body indefinitely but life can be restored with the proper techniques. The fact that they they were both recovered from the ice is interesting but he wastes very little time dwelling on it. Instead, he turns his attention back to the folder in front of him.

He recognizes the young man on a fundamental level, a recognition that comes from fame and legend. He was the country's golden boy, the army's perfect soldier, and a true American hero. Rising from nothing to become a household name overnight. There were even stamps with his face on them. Steve Rogers; the name itself screams all-American upbringing and white picket fences. He was America's hero, both in the past and now in the present, but even heroes have to die some time.

His assignment required that Rogers be eliminated by the end of the week, no exceptions and no excuses. His employers wanted speed and efficiency and he had promised his service. It's nothing personal; it never is. A job is a job and that's all there is to it. He memorizes the rest of the file and flips it closed. By the end of the week, Steve Rogers would be dead and this time there would be no coming back.

**OOOOO**

He finds himself across the street from a cafe, a hat pulled low over his eyes and his face partially hidden by a newspaper. Rogers is across the street, sitting at a small table with well-dressed man in a grey suit and a woman with strawberry blond hair. The man and woman appear to be discussing something rather intently while Rogers sketches the skyline silently in a wire-bound book on the table. He looks young, younger than he did in the files and film footage, and for the first time since he was reawakened, the assassin finds himself questioning what the kid has done to earn such a hit placed on his head.

Logically he knows it has to do with his employers and their reasons are not to be questioned. They have a reason for wanting him dead so badly and that's all he needs to know. It doesn't bother him and it doesn't change his assignment; Rogers will be dead by midnight and his assignment will be complete. He's just curious, that's all.

He watches the three of them carefully, memorizing facial expressions and body language. Rogers doesn't appear as relaxed as the other two, his back a bit straighter and his posture just slightly more rigid than the man and woman joining him. It can probably be attributed to his time in the war, living in the midst of a firefight for weeks and months at a time. The other two don't appear to notice it or if they do, they've grown accustomed to it. Occasionally, the redheaded woman will touch his arm and his posture will relax for a few seconds before carefully settling back into its rigid form. The man in the suit makes a few jokes and Rogers will smile at the effort but he never fully relaxes. Always on edge, always ready for the blow he'll never see coming. Too bad he doesn't know about the price on his head.

He's already scoped out the Tower Rogers lives in, taking stock of the onsite security and those he lives with. The security system was extraordinarily difficult to infiltrate, not impossible but definitely top of the line. His employers provided live security footage from the Tower and he uses it to familiarize himself with the layout. Rogers lives on the 34th floor with a security code locked door. An individual access key card and a personal identification scanner are used to gain entry into both Rogers' room and that level of the Tower. The Tower itself is guarded by artificial intelligence and constant surveillance. Once again, difficult to get past but not impossible; nothing a targeted EMP won't solve. He's faced worse odds before and much more difficult assignments, this one is nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

He stands slowly, pulling his hat a bit lower and tucking the newspaper under one arm. Rogers notices his movement from across the street, always alert just as he suspected, and eyes him carefully for a moment. There's the briefest flash of something close to recognition in his eyes and he stands slowly as well, stepping past the table and onto the sidewalk to get a better look. The assassin pauses briefly although he can't explain why. For a short moment, a heartbeat in time, they lock eyes and then he's gone, disappearing into a tour group and becoming just another face in the crowd.

Rogers looked as though he recognized him for a moment, however fleeting and puzzling the encounter seemed. He saw something pass over his face, a haunted expression that couldn't be hidden. Let him think what he wants, he doesn't care. Rogers may think he recognizes him but he's mistaken. They've never met before and he's certain of that. It won't change his fate either; he's going to die tonight and that's all there is to it.

**OOOOO**

He sits motionless for hours, watching the Tower silently until the moment is right. The hours creep forward slowly, shifting from pm to am, the blackened sky above getting darker as the night deepens. Just after 2 am, he stands soundlessly, unfolding out of the shadows like he'd been born there. He crosses the empty street in long strides, coming to a stop at the base of the Tower and pressing a metallic disc to the access card panel next to the front doors to the lobby. A split second later, the panel is overridden and the doors unlock quietly. He steps inside, the door swinging closed and locking behind him.

The override allows for a 45 second window of no surveillance and he utilizes that opportunity to cross the lobby and slip into an empty elevator shaft just as the cameras flicker back to life. Scaling the outside of the car, he walks across the roof and wraps his hands around the thick cables. The shaft stretches up endlessly in the darkness, the cables extending on for what seems like miles. He doesn't waste any time focusing on the climb and simply begins hoisting himself up the cables, one hand over the other as he climbs up into the darkness.

By the time he reaches the correct floor, he's sweating and his arms are shaking but he doesn't stop. Pain is irrelevant and fatigue is useless; he has a job to do. The hallway is empty, the lights dimmed and low. Two cameras are tucked away in the corners of hall, watching carefully for any sign of movement. The AI that runs dual surveillance on the house has not discovered his presence yet and he plans to keep it that way.

He pulls out a the Iphone he'd been supplied with and types in the code his employers had provided. The cover would be temporary, a minute at best, but it would give him time to gain access into Rogers' room before anything was deemed amiss by the security features. A moment later, the lights on the cameras blink out before coming back on and flashing in a steady pulse. The video footage would be looped for several seconds, making it appear as though the hallway had been empty all along. He walks across the hall, pressing the metallic disc to the access panel outside of Rogers' room and opens the door.

The room is dark when he steps inside, the only light coming from a small lamp sitting on the desk across the room. The floor is laid out much the same way an apartment would be with a living area and kitchen in the center and a bedroom off to the side. The bedroom door is closed, shutting off the living room and everything in it. He crosses the room silently and pushes the door open with one hand.

The room is dark but he can make out Rogers' form on one side of the bed. He's laying on his side, arms crossed over his chest and eyes closed lightly. His breathing is deep and even, an indication of heavy sleep, and it seems almost odd that he appears so relaxed now when earlier in the day he had been so on edge. It makes no difference and he crosses the room to the sleeping figure soundlessly. He gets right to the edge of the bed before Rogers springs awake.

Blue eyes snap open and a hand shoots forward to block the metallic hand coming down toward his throat. He uses the momentum as leverage to roll off the bed in the opposite direction, landing on the other side of the mattress and staring his attacker down coldly. For a moment, neither of them move, they both eye each other silently in the darkness to see who will attack first. The assassin takes the initiative and propels himself over the bed, slamming the soldier into the wall with enough force to crack the plaster.

The soldier grunts in pain but stays upright, sweeping one leg beneath the assassin's feet and knocking him to the ground. The assassin keeps his hold on him though and both tumble to the ground heavily. There's a painful crack against his jaw and he can feel his lip split beneath the fabric of the mask covering his mouth. The soldier is above him, fist still clenched and ready to strike another blow but the assassin reacts before he can, kicking up off with a heavy boot to the chest.

His target crashes into the bedside table, knocking the lamp onto the floor and causing it to flicker to life. The room is cast in dull, yellow light and there's a flash of recognition in the soldier's eyes. "You," he mutters, his body dropped into a defensive crouch. "I saw you earlier. You were watching us at the cafe."

The assassin says nothing, standing slowly and cracking his neck on the way up. He can see the soldier clearly now, hair disheveled and clothing rumpled from the fight. He looks young, very young, and there is an almost imperceptible twitch of something in the assassin's gut as he looks at him. He ignores it and lunges forward again, grabbing the soldier by the throat with his metal hand and slamming him into the wall.

The younger man's hands wrap around the metal of his wrist and he coughs hoarsely, struggling to break loose. One knee comes up, catching the assassin in the chest and knocking him backward. The soldier is on him them, wisely twisting the metal arm behind his back and wrapping his other arm around the assassin's throat from behind. "Who sent you?" He growls in his ear, tightening his grip on both the arm and his throat. "Tell me!"

The assassin doesn't answer, instead grabbing the younger man's arm with his free hand and flipping him over his shoulder before he can react. The soldier crashes to the floor heavily, biting back a grunt of pain at the collision. His arms come to to block the next attack, one hand pushing the assassin away while the fingers of his other hand tangle in the fabric of the mask covering his face. They are evenly matched, both incredibly strong and equally determined to succeed. All it would take is one split second of broken concentration to gain the upper hand. There's a faint ripping sound of fabric and the mask is torn away, now little more than shredded black cloth.

The soldier stops struggling then, his eyes widening and the blood draining from his face. "Bucky…?" He asks, his voice quiet and shaking with disbelief. The assassin uses it to his advantage and wraps his hand around his throat again.

The younger man coughs and struggles against the hand pinning him to the floor. "Bucky...it's me…" he gasps, pushing against him with everything he has. "It's Steve…!"

The assassin simply tightens his grip. "Sorry, pal, no one by that name here."

The younger man pushes against him once more, gaining a bit of leverage and shoving him off in a burst of strength. The assassin staggers back but regains his footing almost instantly, lunging into another attack. Rogers dodges and blocks, the shock and surprise now replaced with adrenaline and fight or flight instinct. "Bucky...stop!" He growls, blocking a fist with one arm and an uppercut with the other. "It's me…!"

A fist crashes into his temple and the younger man goes down instantly, dazed and disoriented. A heavy boot catches him in the ribs and he tumbles across the floor, gasping and bleeding. The assassin is on him again, pinning both arms with his knees and gripping his throat once more.

Rogers gasps and chokes, his face going crimson from lack of oxygen. "Buc...ky…" he chokes, his voice a little more than a croaked groan. "It's...me…"

He glares down at him, watching the light fade from his eyes and struggle die down beneath him. Both hands are wrapped around his throat, fingers pressing down heavily on both the carotid and jugular. His thumbs are right above the hyoid bone, tendons and cartilage bending beneath the pressure. All it would take is just a little more, crush the trachea and snap his neck and the assignment would be complete. But he can't.

He hesitates, he's never hesitated before but right now...he does. Rogers is going still beneath him, his eyes beginning to roll back in his head from lack of oxygen and the cut off circulation to his brain. The struggling is coming to an end, unconsciousness and death are mere seconds away...and he hesitates.

Bucky. The soldier had called him Bucky. He acted as if he'd known him, a long forgotten person from a long forgotten past. The haunted recognition in his eyes, the pleading tone in his voice, he believed him to be someone he wasn't. He doesn't have a name, he never did, and if he ever did have one it certainly wasn't Bucky. Names belong to humans and he wasn't human, he was a machine. Cold, unfeeling, calculating; that's how they made him. So why was he hesitating now?

Rogers has stop struggling entirely by this point, his body beginning to go limp on the floor, and he feels his hand loosening ever so slightly against his throat. His orders were to kill him, no excuses and no exceptions. So why can't he do it?

"Steve!" There's a blast of energy from behind him and a powerful forces slams into his metal arm. It's strong enough to knock him backwards but not strong enough to take him down. He lands against the opposite wall and looks back toward the door to see the man from the cafe standing in the threshold. He's no longer wearing a suit, dressed down in a t-shirt and jeans, but the repulsor weapon glowing in his hand is enough to grab anyone's attention.

Without waiting for an explanation he fires again, just barely missing the assassin. The wall crumbles behind him, opening up to the skyline of the city below. Across the room, Rogers is coughing hoarsely and struggling to sit up but the man with the repulsor is standing over him protectively and glaring at the intruder.

He knows he could take them both; it may be more challenging now that one of the men has an energy weapon literally in the palm of his hand but not impossible. He doesn't though and he's not sure why. This assignment is no different than any of the others, another target for another employer; just a job. But he can't finish the assignment, he can't kill Rogers and he doesn't know why. He feels something that he doesn't have a name for, something he doesn't know if he's ever felt before. That is unusual in itself; he usually doesn't feel anything.

Rogers is on his elbows, still coughing and struggling to regain his breath, but his eyes lock on him briefly. "Bucky…" he croaks again, his voice broken and harsh. "Don't…"

He doesn't wait for whatever else the soldier is about to say and flips himself out of the crumbled wall behind him. Another blast of energy nearly hits him on the way out, the heat grazing the side of his face as he falls into open space. The grappling gun on his belt dislodges easily and his fires it toward a building across the street. It hooks onto a ledge and he swings down onto the pavement, breaking into a run the minute his feet touch the ground. The Tower disappears behind him, fading into the distance as he runs. He doesn't stop until he's at least a mile away, walking the empty streets silently.

He's failed...he's never failed an assignment before. He failed because of Rogers. He can't explain it, he doesn't have the words, but he knows that's the reason. That's the only explanation. But why? They don't know each other, he's certain of that, but Rogers had looked at him with such conviction in his eyes, such recognition...he can't explain it.

He called him Bucky. That name...it's completely foreign, alien, unknown. That's not his name, it never was. But it triggers something cold and sharp deep inside, like icy waters filling his veins. It feels like ice...like snow-capped mountains and icy train tracks and frigid water...it feels like…

He crosses the street and disappears into a shadow. The metal arm aches at his side, cold and shining like a frozen pond. Like ice. Like falling through ice...it feels like falling...He shakes his head and keeps walking, disappearing deeper into the shadows of the city.

For the first time that he can remember, he feels something deep inside. Something is trying to claw its way to the surface, fingernails scratching against the cold, ice-covered patches of his mind. He wants to shake it off but he can't so he lets it claw deeply at his subconscious. He doesn't know if he should let it out, what will happen when it makes it to the surface. He allows himself to be absorbed into the darkness...and he doesn't know how to feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt it was appropriate to begin and end this story arc with Bucky; it just seems to fit. There will be a follow-up story to this chapter in the next few days so never fear; the cliffhanger does not end here! Thanks for reading guys! :D

**Author's Note:**

> So there it is! Hope you guys liked it!


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